


All I want For Christmas...

by harrypanther



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Family, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrypanther/pseuds/harrypanther
Summary: Five years since Thorin and his Company wrestled the family business from SmaugCorp and cleared the Durin family name, Thorin has lost touch with Bilbo Baggins, the Company burglar who, too late, he has realised he loves. Years have passed with no sign of the man until a familiar wreath seller comes to the mansion…
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 130





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this came from but the spirit of the season took me. I'll be posting every day or so until we're complete. Happy Holidays!
> 
> Disclaimer: The Hobbit was written by J R R Tolkien. The film rights remain with New Line, MGM and Paramount.

**One**

“It’s going to snow.”

The young boy looked up, his big blue eyes fixed on his guardian, his ‘Uncle’-though first cousin once removed would be more accurate. Though Uncle Bilbo always introduced himself as Frodo’s Uncle and really, what was the difference? Uncle Bilbo had taken Frodo in when no one else had wanted him after his parents…and he did all the sort of things an uncle would anyway…

“I know, Frodo,” Bilbo said, winding his scarf tightly around his neck. “But I have to try. We’ve been making wreaths all week and we’ve sold a few but we need to sell more before we can pay the rent on our room through Christmas.” He tousled Frodo’s curly, rather messy raven hair. “And you have to stay inside, young man.”

“But…”

“That’s a nasty cough, young man, and I don’t want it on your chest,” Bilbo told him sternly, then dropped to his knees before the boy. He rested his hands gently on the boy’s thin shoulders, clothed in a ratty green sweater than had seen better days, two tee-shirts that were veering on too small, patched jeans and thick mismatched socks. He glanced at the storage heater. “You need to stay in the warm and I’ll be back before you know it. Huddle close to the heater and wrap the blanket around you. You have your books and your homework from school to keep you busy. At lunchtime, there’s a packet cup soap-you know how to use the kettle safely?”

“Always pour away from myself,” Frodo parroted immediately. Bilbo gave a satisfied nod and gave him a hug.

“I worry,” he murmured softly. “You’re really all I have left and I am so sorry that it’s just you and me and this isn’t as good as home was but…” Frodo hugged him back strongly.

“It’s okay,” he reassured the older man, seeing the sadness in Bilbo’s hazel eyes. A little below average height with tousled light brown loosely curly hair, Bilbo was unremarkable to look at and possessed impeccable manners but he would fight like a lion to protect the boy-even at the cost of his home. Frodo didn’t know what had happened but somehow, his arrival had cost Bilbo his home, Bag End, and had left the pair moving around, looking for work and always struggling. But the alternative-living with Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins and their horrible son Lotho-had been something that Bilbo would never allow to happen to Frodo, no matter the cost to himself. Then Bilbo clambered up and gathered his bag of handmade Christmas wreaths before pulling his coat on.

“I’ll be back later,” he reassured the boy. “And don’t you worry. I have a good feeling about today. Everything is going to be fine.”

-o0o-

It was a Friday evening and Thorin Oakenshield was bone-tired. It had been an ages-long week at Erebor Commodities and every waking moment had been crammed with meetings, phone calls, online conferences and arguments as trading partners strived to drive the hardest deal possible for the final quarter. Dealing in gold, platinum, silver, Mithril and precious gemstones as well as a selection of rare-earth metals, Erebor was respected and rich but it hadn’t always been so and the source of their wealth and power had for a long time been stolen from them by fraud, deception and some very corrupt legal rulings. It was only five years ago that Thorin-last scion of the faded and much-maligned Durin family-had led a small Company of friends, family and one contractor to uncover the criminality and finally reclaim his birthright.

He sat at his desk-a green granite seamed with fine skeins of gold that was carved from the very rocks of the Lonely Mountain, the remote location of their ancient home and source of their wealth that had been recovered finally in the epic court battle finally won by their legal counsel, Gandalf Greyhame, thanks to the efforts of the Company. The stone was warm to the touch, his hands sliding over the polished surface as he glanced at the images in the twin frames on his desk. One was of his sister Dis and her sons Fili and Kili-his only living close relations-but the other was of the Company, taken by Bofur’s rather cheap phone. It was the only image of them all together, snapped by a barmaid that the miner had persuaded to grab the snap for him. It was a little fuzzy and almost everyone had red eyes but the fourteen of them were all crammed in the frame, grinning and waving. Thorin briefly looked at his younger self-stern and far too serious for his own good, not recognising and acting on what was of most value until it was too late-before he looked at the man hunkered down at the front, grinning cheekily and holding up and china cup of tea. Innocuous and smaller than average, Bilbo Baggins was possessed of a sharp mind, an incisive wit and far more courage than any of them had guessed. Thorin owed his life to Bilbo several times over as well as the whole of Erebor, for he had found the proof at grave risk to his own safety. And while he had been hired as the ‘Company Burglar’, Bilbo had succeeded through a combination of hacking, fast talking and a little light infiltration…all while vehemently denying to Thorin that he was anything other than a respectable writer.

He smiled. If he concentrated, he could hear Bilbo’s calm voice explaining to him why he was being a reckless fool and why his plan was patent suicide. SmaugCorp’s security was certainly one reason that he had chosen to ignore and who Bilbo had needed to fend off at risk of his own neck, leading to that confrontation by Ravenhill, just north of the city of New Erebor. The Company had been ambushed and they had been losing until unexpected allies had arrived in time to end the enemy forces. Thorin had seen their presence-and the reasons they had come to his aid-as a betrayal, banishing Bilbo without so much as a goodbye or his fee and the man had gone, returning home without a word of protest. Injured and poisoned by Azog, SmaugCorp’s Security Chief, Thorin had not been in his right mind and when he had finally recovered after a long spell on Intensive Care, he had been devastated. During the journey, he had found himself growing closer to the spirited burglar and just before everything spiralled out of control, he had realised that he had found his One, the only person his heart could ever love. It was a belief that all Ereboreans held, though not all others shared their conviction-and Thorin had yet to speak of his feelings to the Company Burglar before the endgame. Now Bilbo was gone and Thorin was to blame.

Things had been hectic and the legal battles had sapped what little energy Thorin had, discharging himself far too soon from hospital to help counter the lies of SmaugCorp but paying the price in a relapse that had him laid low for over a month after the victory. Even seeing his remaining enemies arrested and charged with their crimes hadn’t alleviated his distress. And as soon as he was able, there was work in reclaiming the Corporation and untangling the criminal and illegal aspects of SmaugCorp from the legitimate business. The lawyers had been busy and Thorin had often despaired that he would have anything left after they had unpicked the mess. And suddenly, a year had passed with no word from Bilbo. So Thorin had written, apologising and begging for forgiveness but he had never received a reply. But he had persisted-until the letter returned to him, marked NOT KNOWN AT THIS ADDRESS.

He had been concerned then and had started to make enquiries, sending Nori Rison to Bilbo’s home in the distant Shire-and returning empty-handed. Bilbo had fallen on hard times and had vanished. And while it wasn’t his business, while he had banished the younger man cruelly, Thorin couldn’t help but worry. Bilbo had spoken of his home and family with such affection that losing his home must have been a terrible blow. But in the intervening years, Thorin had not found a single sign of the man though he had never stopped looking.

He stood and sighed, collecting his phone and closing down his laptop. It was time to go home, to see his sister and her sons, the reason he had fought so hard for his birthright, and enjoy time with his family. Packing his computer into his bag, he glanced over at the floor to ceiling windows and sighed.

It was snowing.

Checking the office one last time, he headed home for Christmas.

-o0o-

Erebor Mansion was the ancestral home of the Durin family-fallen into disrepair and half-wrecked by squatters and the tender ministrations of SmaugCorp’s Security team. Of course, they had been looking for the files that Thorin’s grandfather, Thror and father, Thrain had secreted in their home to prove their innocence and SmaugCorp’s guilt. Bilbo had found those as well, sneaking around under the noses of the guards and arriving home shot another pang of guilt through Thorin as he glanced at the sandy stone of the three storey building. The gates clanged closed behind him as he parked and headed into the house, his collar turned up against the snow.

As soon as the door closed, the warmth hit him. The Mansion was light and airy, high ceilings and white-painted plaster above the dark wood panelling that his grandfather had preferred. It was tradition among Ereborean people and Thror was everything about tradition. But Thorin hadn’t even got his coat off when he was hit by two boy-shaped missiles yelling at the tops of their voices. Blonde Fili-the elder at thirteen and dark-haired Kili-the younger at eleven-seemed to be having a competition between them over who could do the best impression of an octopus and try to tell their Uncle about their day first.

“Enough!” Thorin said loudly enough to cut through the chatter to little effect. In the end, he had to lean forward and tickle the boys-which they hated-before they would let him go. Both were thoroughly over-excited because Christmas was only a couple of days away and it was time to decorate the tree. Dis had arranged the tree-an eight foot spruce in the bay of the main sitting room-but decorating it was a family affair that they always did together, from the boys’ youngest days when it had been Thorin, Dis and her sons living in a one bedroom apartment and the tree was whatever tiny specimen Thorin could scrounge from a gas station to make the holiday.

“But Mom said we couldn’t start the tree until you got home and we’ve been waiting _ages_ ,” Kili sighed, using his best puppy eyes. His dark hair scruffy, dark eyes filled with pleading and an uncanny resemblance to Dis, he managed just the right level of whine in his voice to have Thorin rolling his eyes, though he took the opportunity to shuck off his heavy overcoat and his suit jacket as well.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” he reminded them, his clear blue eyes softening. Fili was trying to remain cool, though he was as excited as his baby brother, his blond hair a little neater and blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Mom was about to start without you,” he mentioned in a low voice as Thorin affected mock horror.

“Outrageous!” he exclaimed. “Usurpation!”

“It’s your own fault for messing around so long in that stupid office,” Dis told him. Elegant and determined, Dis shared Thorin’s blue eyes and raven hair, hers twisted up in a stylish knot, her make-up immaculate and simple black wool dress flattering his svelte frame. “Family is what’s important-and no one is doing any deals at this time of day anyway…” Biting his tongue, Thorin grinned back at her.

“I defer to your knowledge of time zones and business practices in those countries that don’t close down in late December,” he snarked back and took Kili’s hand. “However, I’m home now and I don’t need to go back in until the New Year.” Then he winked. “Didn’t you have a tree in need of decorating?”

Dis had made sure there were drinks ready-bourbon for Thorin, gin and tonic for her and sodas for the boys. Bowls of potato chips, cheese footballs, twiglets, nuts and festive cinnamon biscuits were placed on the coffee table next to the boxes of lights and baubles. Fili and Kili began excavating their favourite decorations to hang up as Dis grabbed the first set of lights and glanced over at her brother. Taking a sip from his drink, Thorin was rolling up his sleeves and flicked his long raven hair back: he could have cut it, he supposed, as he had trimmed his beard to a short manicured look though it went against tradition and he was used to it by now.

“Someone came by earlier,” she said conversationally, searching through the tangle of lights to locate the end of the string. “A stranger selling a Christmas wreath.”

“Hmm?” Thorin grunted, picking up the second set of lights. It was one task that they swore they would do ahead of time every year and every year, they forgot until they were untangling the lights again. Dis nodded and began to skilfully untie the knotted cord.

“Yes-very odd,” she continued. “It’s not a local custom-apparently something in the West…” Thorin frowned.

_Like the Shire. It’s a very agricultural region and using vegetation in decorations would be pretty standard, I expect._

“Did you buy one?” he asked absently but she shook her head.

“Why would I buy anything from a door to door seller?” she asked him mildly. “We don’t have to waste our money now on cheap tat…”

“It’s a nice idea,” he murmured. “I suspect they were handmade…”

“That’s what the man said,” Dis frowned, threading the lights through a loop in the cord. “Muttered something about the door being easier to get to last time…I think he didn’t realise I was still listening. He looked suspicious, if you ask me…” But Thorin was on his feet, dumping his bundle of untangled lights and heading for the security office-no more than a little cupboard off the main hall. He scrolled back through the camera footage from the gate until he glimpsed the wreath seller, looking into the camera as he spoke to Dis through the door.

“Bilbo.”


	2. Two

**Two.**

It had been a bad afternoon-well, a pretty bad day, all in all. There were very few takers for his meticulously-crafted wreaths and though the workmanship was good, Bilbo had been met with blank looks and disinterest. A few kindly people had bought one-Bilbo almost didn’t have the heart to charge them the full price but the memory of Frodo’s pale face stiffened his resolve-and most were non-Ereboreans who had moved to the city of New Erebor to work, many of them from places where the Christmas Wreath tradition held. He had wasted half the afternoon walking up the better neighbourhoods to universal failure, coming face to gate in front of a sandy building that stirred a whole cocktail of memories-some good, some less so-but he had been sent away from there as well. He had seen the name DURIN on the gate and for a fraction of a second, he had wanted to shout that they only had the place because of him. But he hadn’t and he had been turned away by another member of the Durin family with empty pockets and the sensation of failure.

So now he was tracking through the snowy streets of the poorer districts where there were more immigrants and where perhaps a few people would hope to rekindle memories of Yule celebrations at home by buying a wreath. It was already late, he was frozen and exhausted but he needed to sell a couple more at least so they could make the rent. Though how he could hope to afford any good food for Frodo was beyond him.

But Bilbo would manage. Bilbo always managed, no matter how hard life kicked him. And though he had lost his home and his family, he would not fail Frodo.

-o0o-

“Dwalin-I know you’re on your way over but I need a favour.”

Thorin’s voice was steady-but only just-and his cousin grunted in response, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and scowled at the swirling snow.

“I guess it can’t wait until we arrive,” he growled. A massive man, tall as Thorin but with a tattooed bald head fringed by dark greying hair and thick beard, Dwalin Fundinson managed security concerns for Erebor Commodities and was Thorin’s cousin, along with his older brother Balin, the COO. “You know Dis will be mad?”

“I’m certain,” Thorin said. “Dwalin-he’s here.”

There was a silence on the line.

“In the house?” Dwalin asked gruffly. Thorin pinched his nose and sighed.

“No,” he admitted. “But he was here, at the gate selling Christmas wreaths this afternoon. He’s in the city.”

There was another, chillier pause.

“Thorin-it’s a big city and people are coming and going all the time,” Dwalin explained.

“He was on foot,” Thorin said quietly. “Look-he’s alive. He’s here. It must be a sign from Mahal that I have a chance.” He lowered his voice. “I wronged him, Dwalin. This may be my last, my only chance to repent and ask for his forgiveness. I-I have to do everything humanly possible to find him.”

“We’ll find him,” Dwalin replied more softly. “I’ll round up everyone and see if we can track him on the public cameras. I can call in some favours…”

“You don’t…”

“Thorin-you’ve been pining for the last five years and to be honest, we all feel bad for the lad,” Dwalin confessed gruffly. “I’ll call in the lads. We’ll find him.”

“Thank you.” The tone was sincere.

“I’ll expect a triple when I finally arrive,” Dwalin grumbled and cut the call, then turned to his brother, sitting at his side. “You heard?” Balin-shorter, older and smarter-gave a twinkling smile. His white hair was standing to attention, his long luxuriant beard twitching as he spoke.

“If he is here, we have to do everything to make up to him,” he reminded his brother. Dwalin growled as he spun the car in a U-turn.

“I know,” he muttered. “But the words ‘needle' and ‘haystack’ spring to mind.”

“You have colleagues who can help-and I’m coming as well,” Balin told him. “We all owe Bilbo our lives. Now, I think you have some calls to make…”

-o0o-

Bard was already scrolling through the cameras when Dwalin and Nori walked in. The man had been an investigative journalist with good contacts in the Police Department and was now a town councillor for the Dale District. The camera operators were all on good terms with the man who had fought so diligently to ensure they remained well-paid civilians rather than inducted into the police force and he froze an image of Mountain Drive.

“There he is,” he said without preamble as the two newcomers came to stand at his shoulder. Nori Rison, a former smuggler and black marketeer, was Thorin’s unofficial fixer, a man who was not shy in using less than legal means to investigate what was needed and who was handy in a fight. Of average height with russet hair slicked back into a casual style, his amber eyes narrowed as he saw the figure in the image.

“Looks down on his luck,” he commented. “Selling door to door isn’t a steady income.”

“Best lead we’ve had for years,” Dwalin put in dryly. “You didn’t find out anything in the Shire.”

“I found his home had been taken by relatives and that he was gone,” Nori corrected him snarkily. “Just didn’t know where-and not one of his relatives expressed any concern for him.” Bard-a saturnine man with little patience-scrolled on.

“He walks all the way up and down the road and no one lets him in,” he summarised. “He doesn’t give up. Tries every house. Then he heads down towards Gate, Riverside and Laketown and again, keeps trying every door with more success. Seems that people with less have more charity in their hearts. Latest I can see-three minutes ago-he’s on the Esgaroth Estate. It’s a pretty violent place and it’s getting late.” He looked up. “You ever considered that he may not want to see you?”

Dwalin nodded slowly and then sighed.

“He has every reason to tell us to take a long walk off a short pier,” he admitted. “But if he is in trouble, we owe him. He was cheated before-when he called you and Thranduil in. And even though Gandalf had also contacted you, Thorin blamed Bilbo.”

“Thorin was out of his mind with that poison Azog gave him,” Bard said gravely, spinning to face the Security Chief. “I know Gandalf helped Bilbo get away…I wonder why he didn’t call him back when it was obvious what had happened.”

“Would you want to come back?” Nori asked him, lowering his phone. “He basically did all the heavy lifting in the mission and we threw him aside like trash when we had no more use for him. Thorin reneged on the contract and never paid him. What he said to him was…harsh. Unless Thorin came grovelling, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“And Thorin was fighting for his life on ITU,” Bard murmured. “Everyone else was trying to clear up the mess and deal with the fallout. I don’t think anyone was unscathed.”

“The boys are already on the way,” Nori told Dwalin. “Wanna let them have all the fun?” The bigger man shook his head.

“Thanks, Bard,” Dwalin murmured. “Give my best to your children. And have a peaceful Yule.” The former reporter finally smiled.

“And give my best wishes to Bilbo,” he said. “I’d like to see him.”

“So would we all,” Dwalin said, heading for the door.

-o0o-

He only had one wreath left and it was finally time to call it a day. His old, battered watch-that had been his Dad’s-told him that he had been out far too long and Frodo would have been needing his tea some hours ago. He could barely feel his feet and hands but he had enough for the rent and maybe a halfway decent meal for the big day.

“Oy!”

He froze and looked up, cursing inwardly. While carrying out his mental inventory, he had strayed from the better-lit areas and now he was facing three larger men, all eyeing him predatorily. He backed up a step.

“Um…hello?” he offered, his eyes darting for the possible exits. He was feeling tired, cold and so hungry that he was lightheaded. When had he last eaten? Frodo was the priority…it definitely hadn’t been today and yesterday…was fuzzy.

“You know there’s a tax for trading on the Estate!” The speaker was a skinny man with dark eyes and hair who bore a passing resemblance to a weasel. Beside him was a much larger man, his reddish hair greasy and small eyes mean. Bilbo backed up.

“I’m not sure that’s correct,” he said, deciding on his direction.

“Well, the Master here says it is and we all enforce his will,” the man continued as Bilbo broke, sprinting to the left, through a gap between two high rise blocks and bursting out through the bins and onto the road leading to the car park and the main road beyond. His boots skidded on the frosty ground and he staggered but cut across the grass as someone hit him at waist height. He sprawled onto the ground, his chin hitting the ground hard and blurring his vision. But as the person tried to grab at him, Bilbo swung his elbow up to meet his face with a satisfactory thud and scrabbled forward, scrambling up as two men lunged at him, greedy hands making for his pockets. Wishing he could recall more of Dwalin’s self-defence lessons-or that he was the same size, strength and ferocity as the man, he slammed his head forward to get one of the men away and staggered back himself, his vision smeared with stars. His former colleagues used it as a standard offensive tool but honestly, he was shocked they hadn’t given themselves brain damage. But he was surrounded now and all he could concentrate on was keeping his hand clamped onto the money in his pocket, the precious cash that would keep a roof over Frodo’s head for another week.

Suddenly, there was light and shouts and the hands on him vanished. People were moving around him and he staggered until warm arms wrapped around him. He struggled but a familiar voice sounded in his ear, the warm brogue much-missed.

“Easy, Bilbo. You’re among friends.”

“Bofur?” Frantically, Bilbo looked around and saw the shapes of Bifur and Bombur charging through his attackers, fists flying and muggers scattering like leaves. He was particularly pleased to see the weasel-faced man get punched in the face by Bifur, the man’s salt-and-pepper hair caught in the orange soda lights. Bombur chased the fleeing men until they scattered, his rotund shape heaving as he breathed hard with fury. The shocked Bilbo turned to look back at his friend. “What are you doing here?”

Bofur chuckled, his face lit by a huge grin.

“We were sent to look for you because Thorin realised you were alive and here,” Bofur explained, steadying Bilbo. He started.

“He what?”

“You vanished,” Bofur explained gently, his normal good humour fading a little.

“Excuse me-I was banished without so much as a word spoken up for me when I called in the people needed to save your lives!” Bilbo snapped, ripping his arms free of Bofur. The former miner flinched.

“Aye-that was down to us-but Thorin wasn’t in his right mind,” he said. “Azog poisoned him.”

“He seemed lucid enough to me,” Bilbo retorted.

“Right until he collapsed of his wounds-except he went downhill rapidly,” Bofur sighed. “I’m not excusing him but with him fighting for his life and the rest of us wounded, we don’t go after you. That was our fault. And then there was the court battle…”

"I saw you won,” Bilbo commented bitterly.

“Yeah-and Thorin relapsed,” Bofur shrugged as the other two approached. “As soon as he recovered, he wrote to you. But there was no reply. In the end, the letters were just sent back. He feared you had never made it home.”

“Bilbo!” Bombur lumbered up and threw a huge hug around him. “Mahal, I’ve missed you!” Bifur took his place and almost squashed the shocked Bilbo before they finally settled around him, grinning.

“Glad you’re back!” Bifur said. Never one for many words, the horrific scar on his forehead a reminder of the perfidy of SmaugCorp, Bilbo had always trusted him and didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Yes, well…” he began and then he started. “What’s the time? Oh, nevermind. I have to get back!” Bofur frowned. “My nephew is alone in our our lodgings and…oh Yavanna…I’m late with the rent and…”

“Calm down,” Bofur said, gently resting his hands on Bilbo’s tense shoulders. “Tell us the address and we’ll take you there.” The other two cast him a strange look but Bilbo didn’t care, following Bofur to the brown SUV. The other two sat on the back as Bofur took the wheel and it was only then that Bilbo recalled why he tried to avoid Bofur’s driving. The other two looked stoic and tried to talk to avoid the raw terror as the former miner joked and laughed as he ran red lights, made at least one illegal U-turn and went the wrong way down a one-way street until they rounded the corner into the worst end of the city and found themselves in front of the decrepit building that he and Frodo had been surviving in. And worse, he saw the little shape of his nephew huddled by their bags, trying to keep out of the wind and the snow.

In a second, Bilbo was out of the door and running towards the boy.

“FRODO! What happened, my boy?” he asked urgently, crouching down by the boy and wrapping him in an embrace. Even though he was wrapped in his coat and hat and scarf, his nose was freezing and Bilbo hugged him fiercely.

“I couldn’t get the kettle,” Frodo told him miserably. “I got everything else-even the packet soups.”

“But what happened?” Bilbo asked gently. The boy sighed and gave a small cough.

“Mister Stonefoot came round and said we were late with our rent so we had to get out. I tried to say you would be back any time with the rent but he wouldn’t listen and gave me five minutes to get everything.” He buried deeper into Bilbo’s front. “I’ve still got Sam though.” Bilbo kissed his forehead, his chest filled with anger and hatred for their greedy and soulless landlord who had evicted an unaccompanied small boy into the freezing snowy night two days before Christmas.

“I’ve half a mind to march back in there and demand that Yavanna-cursed bag of pig excrement give us back our room because there are laws that prohibit eviction for being two hours late with the rent and there are certainly laws about evicted solo children!” Bilbo snapped.

“They already moved someone into our home,” Frodo mumbled against Bilbo’s chest. Bofur sighed and glanced at his kinsmen.

“What was your room number?” he asked. Frodo peeked out, his blue eyes huge as he realised that his Uncle had brought three strange men with him. He glanced up at Bilbo and the older man nodded.

“Room 4C,” he said in a small voice. Bifur nodded shortly.

“We’ll get your kettle,” he said and stomped into the building. Bofur sighed.

“We were asked to take you to see Thorin,” he admitted.

“Absolutely not,” Bilbo snapped, tightening his arms around his nephew. “I…”

“Look-he’s been searching for you for the last five years,” Bombur explained. “He really wants to apologise.”

“If you go and see him…we’ll happily give you and the lad a room until you get back on your feet,” Bofur said. Bilbo stared. “Look-we didn’t do badly out of the whole mess and we’ve got a couple of spare rooms. And you are a friend…” Frodo emerged from his nest against Bilbo’s chest and looked up,

“Uncle Bilbo?” he asked. “Who are these people?” Bilbo sighed.

“These are the people I went on my adventure five years ago-just before I took you in,” he explained and then slowly got to his feet, still holding Frodo’s hand. “And in the absence of any other option, I may take you up on your offer.”

“But only after you see Thorin,” Bombur insisted, glaring at his brother. Sighing, Bilbo gave a concessionary nod.

“Looks like I haven’t got any choice,” he mumbled as the door to the apartments slammed open and Bifur emerged, holding a kettle in each hand.

“Okay-which one of these is yours?” he asked, holding them up. Frodo’s mouth was a perfect O as he pointed to the battered silver kettle with red plastic handle. Nodding, Bifur carelessly tossed the other kettle into a snowdrift and marched towards them.

“Thank you,” Frodo said quietly, staring up at the stranger. Bifur grinned.

“Now let’s get out of here before the police arrive,” he said.


	3. Three

**Three.**

“You will wear a hole in the carpet,” Dis snarked as she hung another glass bell on the tree. The boys had long since lost interest and were playing video games on the television. As Thorin glanced over, Kili’s character was shooting arrows at some form of goblin creatures. He spun on his heel and paced back.

“We can buy another one,” he replied automatically. Dis snorted and drained her gin and tonic.

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “Ever since you saw the image of that street seller, you’ve been elsewhere…” He paused then and gestured to the house.

“We’re only here because of him,” he reminded her bluntly. “He sneaked in here and found evidence we needed. He saved my life. He was invaluable…but I wronged him terribly. And I thought him lost. There’s been no clue for almost five years…and then he arrives at my door. And you sent him away.” She glared at him and walked up to him, poking him hard in the chest.

“I’m not supposed to know everyone you were involved with and sent away when I was at home caring for two small children!” she snapped. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.

“I have almost given up hope so many times,” he said quietly, looking his sister in the eye. “Because I wronged him so badly and feared that my sending him away at that moment may have caused him harm. Maybe he died on the way home. Maybe he was injured. I certainly cheated him of his rightful payment. And whatever has happened to him…would not have, had I behaved with decency and honour. I owe him everything. And I cannot rest until I know I have made right what I did.”

She stared up into his face and wondered how her brother could have survived so long when under his gruff and stern exterior, he was a romantic. She knew that Thorin had suffered worse for what had happened to their family than anyone surviving, though he refused to ever discuss his trials, but throughout it all, he had remained committed to his kin and friends and to honouring the memory of his father and grandfather. He believed in the ancient Ereborean beliefs of One True Love, of honour and life debts. And his tone indicated he felt he owed the street seller at least two of those. Absently, she raised her hand to brush a lock of his hair off his cheek.

“He may not want to see you or grant you what you want,” she murmured. He nodded, his eyes filling with despair.

“I know,” he said. “But no matter what he says, I still owe him his payment. And if he truly has fallen on hard times, at least my honouring my debts will enable him to reset his life and maybe move forward in more comfort.”

“Just don’t be disappointed if he rejects your apologies,” she persisted. He gave a grim, humourless smile.

“I am expecting it,” he told her. “It’s no more than I deserve.” She gave a slight smile.

“Drama queen,” she teased him. “You…”

The doorbell rang and for a moment everyone froze.

“It’s not going to answer itself,” Fili said from the couch, where he was deftly manipulating his character into beheading a troll. Thorin shook himself and then broke for the door at a run, as Dis watched and tried not to burst out laughing. Kili huffed.

“What has eaten Uncle Thorin this evening?” he asked as his mother walked back to the tree and hung up a chocolate novelty.

“An old friend he thought he had lost contact with may be coming to visit,” she explained. Kili rolled his eyes.

“He’s acting crazy,” he commented and turned back to the game.

“He’s worried,” Fili put in, his character leaping from a cliff deftly.

“He’s your Uncle,” Dis said. “Of course he’s acting crazy and worried. But I think this means an awful lot to him. So whatever happens, I need you to be on your best behaviour!”

“Aww… _Mum…!_ ”

Thorin jerked the door open to meet Dwalin’s stern gaze, with Balin and Nori at his shoulders. He glanced behind them but there was no one else.

“He didn’t come?” he asked without welcoming them. Dwalin punched him hard in the shoulder.

“Come in, Dwalin, Nice ter see ye. Cold weather we’re having, ain’t it? Very good of you to go traipsing over half the city on this freezing night to find someone who could well not even be there…”

“I saw him,” Thorin insisted sulkily, though he stepped back and allowed the three men entry. Balin patted him on the shoulder.

“The Ur brothers found him in Laketown,” he told his cousin kindly. “Bifur called and told us they’re on their way. They had to take a diversion, though, since Bilbo was just evicted from his rented room.” Thorin’s eyes widened in shock.

“He…what?” he managed. Nori slammed the door closed.

“You’d need to ask him,” he said. “Drinks cabinet where we left it last time?”

“Dis is in the sitting room finishing the tree but I’m sure there are canapés ready to be cooked,” Thorin told him automatically. Nori grinned.

“This grumpy lug and I can sort those out if Balin exercises his mixing skills and makes a jug of FlashBangs,” he said and winked at Dwalin. Predictably, the big man scowled.

“You just want everyone drunk so you have dirt on us all for the New Year,” he grumbled.

“Too late for that,” Nori taunted him and strode off for the kitchen with Dwalin grumbling after him. Balin patted his arm as he turned to follow them.

“Calm down,” he advised. “From what we can see, he’s not had an easy time. He’s not going to be happy. Remember who is the wronged party in this.” Thorin arched an eyebrow. “Your temper has a tendency to flare up at the worst possible moment. Just…be patient.” Thorin watched him vanish and face-palmed.

“That’s really not my strong suit,” he commented as he turned to slowly head back to the living room. But he had barely made his way there when the doorbell rang again. He barely restrained himself from running back and he couldn’t prevent himself from ripping the door open-to sigh as he spied the two solid shapes of Oin and Gloin facing him. Gloin-short and solid with a magnificent flaming beard and matching hair, his silk suit straining around his thick girth-and his older brother Oin-with white hair and beard and twin hearing aids-both grinned and launched into a deluge of greetings. Thorin forced himself to welcome them, for both were distant cousins. Gloin would normally have brought his wife, Della, and son, Gimli, but the boy had organised a sleep-over for the night and Della had insisted that she stay to prevent a gang of teenage boys destroying the house in their absence.

“We’re not late are we?” Oin asked, shoving a bottle of brandy into Thorin’s hand. He blinked.

“No, you’re in perfect time,” he admitted. “Balin’s making FlashBangs…” Both men grinned and rubbed their hands.

“Ah,” Gloin grinned. “I may have to call Della to drive me home.”

“That’ll be a taxi then,” his older brother commented knowingly. “She doesn’t trust Gimli as far as she can throw him.”

“I’ll have you know my Gimli is a model teenager…” Gloin protested, making a bee-line for the kitchen with his brother in tow.

“Aye…though emphasis on the word teenager…” Oin teased him, following. Thorin sighed and walked to put the bottle of brandy on the hall table as they vanished, rubbing his forehead. Dis did this every year: invited the entire Company round to ensure that Christmas Eve was spent in a drunken haze with a terrible hangover and two over-excited boys while she glided through her preparations and her traditional hair appointment, leaving him with hung over Company members, a horrible headache and the boys to wrangle for most of the day.

The doorbell rang again and he simply turned back to open it again. He could already hear the sounds of singing.

_“God rest ye Merry Gentlemen,_

_Let nothing you dismay…”_

He stared at the two shapes facing him, both grinning broadly. Dori and Ori Rison-Nori’s older and younger brothers respectively-grinned at him, wrapped in scarves, hats and mittens that all bore the hallmarks of Ori’s work. A skilled craftsman for all his young age and a talented artist, Ori was holding a large carrier bag fully of foil-wrapped gifts, his eyes sparkling in amusement at Thorin’s disgruntled expression while his brother was holding an even larger bag of presents wrapped in bright red paper.

“We could keep on singing unless you let us in,” Ori threatened teasingly and Thorin stepped aside, mumbling apologies. Dori paused at his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice. “You know we are all here if you need us?” He nodded, gesturing to the kitchen.

“Dis is finishing the tree, your brother and Dwalin are probably butchering the canapés and Balin is making FlashBangs,” Thorin told them. Dori nodded and accepted the bag from Ori.

“I’d better stop Dwalin before all we have to eat is charcoal,” the youngest Rison said and headed off as Dori took the bags towards the living room. “I’ll bring you a cocktail as soon as you drop off the presents…” Thorin closed the door and groaned.

“Three…two…one…” he counted and then heard the eruption of two boys yelling at the top of their voices at the arrival of parcels. “I hope those aren’t all for the boys…Dis is going to kill me…” Dwalin stumbled out of the kitchen holding a huge glass filled with a brownish liquid poured over ice with two straws sticking out of the top and a slice of apple and a stick of celery floating in it.

“My brother is a genius,” he said, much more relaxed. He had lost his suit coat and had his shirt open at the neck and sleeves rolled up. He shoved the glass into Thorin’s hand. “Get this down yer neck, you miserable bastard. You’ve been moping for five years and if I have to stare at your miserable face all evening, I may have to punch you.” Taking a big slug of the drink, Thorin shook his head.

“Go and join the party in the kitchen-or give my sister one of these before she throws you out,” he advised.

“You gonna just lurk in the hallway all night?” Dwalin taunted him. Thorin’s glare should have melted steel but Dwalin just burst out laughing. Then the doorbell rang and Dwalin retreated to the kitchen, roaring with laughter. Taking another sip of his FlashBang-and it really was insanely alcoholic-Thorin rested it on the table and stomped to the door, glaring at it.

“I don’t know how many people Dis asked but this is just…” he growled as he wrenched the door open. And then he froze.

Bofur was standing in front of him, his familiar hat lightly dusted with snow and a huge grin on his face. Bifur and Bombur were standing back but at his side there was a familiar shape-and a very unfamiliar one. Bilbo stared up at Thorin, a full head shorter than the CEO, his hazel eyes just as surprised as Thorin’s at the first glimpse of the other. Bilbo’s coat and boots had been better days and a hand knitted scarf was wound around his neck. His hand was resting on the shoulders of a skinny boy with dark-almost black-curls and wide blue eyes, his clothes wrapped loosely around the boy.

“Bilbo,” Thorin gasped and stared.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said and looked pointedly into his face. “May we come in. Or should we just freeze on the doorstep.” Immediately, Thorin backed away and admitted the quintet. Then he stared at Bilbo.

“You’re here…” he breathed.

But he got no further as Bilbo slapped him hard across the face.


	4. Four

**Four.**

Thorin stumbled back a pace, his cheek stinging with the impact of the slap. He had got two words into his admittedly clumsy apology before Bilbo had hit him. And there was no way he could argue he didn’t deserve it.

Breathing hard, he looked back at the furious Bilbo, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and an angry glare hardening his familiar features. The boy (his son?) was half-hiding behind him and Bofur and the others were standing a respectful few paces back while he could hear the guests in the kitchen scuffling to get a better view and try to be quiet-with the usual failure.

“I deserved that,” Thorin said, looking back at Bilbo. “How are you?”

Bilbo slapped him again, the sound ringing round the hall. His head snapped round and he raised a hand to his cheek.

“I guess I deserved that as well,” he added, his glance sliding to the boy, who was staring with huge eyes. “Who is your companion?” The boy blinked then lifted his chin.

“Frodo Baggins, at your service,” the boy said, his voice soft. Thorin bowed to him.

“Thorin Oakenshield at yours,” he said, his deep voice serious. The boy’s eyes grew even rounder and his grip on Bilbo’s coat grew tighter. Then Thorin straightened up and turned to Bilbo. “Bilbo-I owe you an apology. Will you grant me the opportunity to speak it or would you rather hit me again?” Bilbo stared into his eyes and his lips twitched, a shadow of humour entering his eyes.

“You make a quality offer,” he said, waggling his fingers where they stung from the two slaps. “But I believe I can afford to listen to your apology though I reserve the right to hit you afterwards.” Offering a sight bow, Thorin looked into Bilbo’s eyes.

“Master Baggins…Bilbo,” he began, his voice firm but his eyes betraying his uncertainty. Bilbo paused. Thorin Oakenshield unsure? When had that happened? “I owe you an apology for how I treated you when we last met. I said many things that were cruel and hurtful and fundamentally untrue. I called you traitor and rat because I felt that our Quest was ours alone-forgetting that I had already involved outsiders in you and Gandalf. But I was injured and poisoned by Azog and I was not thinking clearly. But those are not excuses because you were our friend-my friend-and I owed you our lives many times over. Your courage and determination meant that we succeeded when all seemed lost. You saw how I was deteriorating and you took the action none of my kin would: you got in those who could help. We survived the attack and I hovered close to death…but by the time I regained my mind, you were gone.”

He took a deep breath.

“The truth is that nothing I can say deserves any forgiveness because I shamed myself, my Company, my line. I treated a dear friend like an enemy and broke the contract we had with no reason. My actions harmed you and I can never make up the hurt I caused you. And though I tried to find you later, it seemed I was too late and could never catch up with you. In truth, I feared you had met some harm on the way home and I was wracked with guilt that you should have been with the Company, who would have ensured you arrived home safely…with your fee.”

Bowing his head, he dropped to his knees.

“Bilbo, I can only offer my humble apologies to you and your son. I will of course make reparations and give you the full one-fourteenth of the value of Erebor, which is what you are owed. Ask whatever you want of me as penance and I will do it. I owe everything I have to you and can never make up for the wrongs I did you. Please, Bilbo-I beg of you. At least grant me the chance to make some amends and serve whatever penance you decree.”

A silence fell over the hall as every eye fell on the pair. Oin and Balin were holding back Gloin, hands over his mouth as he made to protest at the reckless offer of one fourteenth of the entire value of Erebor Commodities. Dis folded her eyes from the door of the main living room as her sons appeared behind her, their eyes falling on Frodo.

“Mum-look!” Kili hissed. “He looks cold and scared.”

“Can we at least make him feel welcome-and give him some food?” Fili added, his eyes seeing the younger boy’s hand still tight on his guardian’s coat. Dis wrapped her arms around them, restraining them with little effort.

“For once, my beloved sons, this is Thorin’s drama and we have to let him see it through,” she told them in a low voice. “So stay here and watch-and hope he doesn’t manage to mess it up.”

Bilbo stared at Thorin, the words rolling around his head. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to think. He had been very fond of Thorin-as a close friend and maybe more-so his pain and anger at his dismissal had been all the more painful. What had happened afterwards had diverted all his attention from his hurt to the basic practicalities of survival. And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined this moment…but facing a real live Thorin as opposed to dream Thorin was an entirely different experience. Real Thorin was more handsome than Bilbo remembered, his eyes more piercing-and pleading-and his deep voice sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine. The contrition was quite genuine and though he repeated the circumstances that Bofur and Bombur had mentioned, he had dismissed them as excuses, taking ownership of his actions.

“My son?” The words were out before he had even thought about them. Thorin glanced up, his eyes darting to Frodo’s anxious form.

“Frodo Baggins,” he said quietly. “I am sorry that I…”

“Frodo isn’t my son,” Bilbo said swiftly, his hand tousling the boy’s hair. “I’m his Uncle…well, technically, his first cousin once removed and second cousin once removed respectively…and when his parents died, shortly before I returned home, no one wanted him. I took him in…but I lost my home and everything else in the process. Uncle is easier for Frodo and others to understand.”

If Thorin felt a shudder of relief ripple through him, he gave no sign. He bowed his head again.

“I apologise for the error,” he said softly. “The way you look at him…is as a father. I…” Bilbo glanced up and saw Dis at the door with the two boys he recognised from the images of their younger selves that Thorin had shown him during their Quest.

“I would guess your nephews, Fili and Kili, would testify that an Uncle can love boys like a father,” he said softly, seeing their eyes widen at his words. “You never stopped talking about them or how proud you were of your sister and her sons. In truth, it was your words I came back to when things were at their lowest, when we were homeless and hungry…and I knew it could be done because you had supported three other people when all I had to do was make enough for a small boy and myself…” Thorin's head snapped up, his eyes shadowed at the implications of the words.

“Bilbo…?” he said cautiously. “My friend…I am so sorry that my actions caused you-caused you _both_ -such hardship…” Bilbo stared at him and then he shook his head.

“You didn’t drive me from the Shire or expel me from the family or declare me legally dead,” he said heavily. “But the money would have been helpful…” Thorin sat back on his heels.

“And the moment the banks open I will make out a banker’s draft for one-fourteenth the value of Erebor Commodities,” he said gravely. Bilbo frowned.

“How much is that?” he asked wearily.

“Two billion four hundred twenty one thousand five hundred and seventy nine dollars give or take!” Gloin yelled from the kitchen door before Balin and Oin dragged him away. Bilbo choked.

“How much?” he gasped.

“Two billion four hundred…” Thorin began as Bilbo waved a hand, bending forward to rest his hands on his knees and began to hyperventilate. He glanced over at Frodo.

“Are you alright Uncle Bilbo?” the boy whispered. There was a pause as Bilbo frowned.

“Nope,” he said and fainted.

-o0o-

His eyes fluttered open and for a moment, he had no clue where he was. There was a white plastered ceiling above him and the bed beneath him was soft and spacious. There was no noise of the trains that had been a constant in his previous lodgings and…

“FRODO!” he cried and sat up as a warm hand rested gently against his chest.

“Easy,” Thorin said, his voice calm.

“Where is Frodo?” Bilbo demanded.

“Downstairs with my nephews,” he explained swiftly. “I apologise-he seemed very hungry so Bombur and Dis made him sausages and baked potatoes with onion gravy and some peas…and then some Christmas trifle…” Bilbo blinked and his head spun. Thorin carefully pressed a cold glass into his hand. “Water,” he explained. “Drink it. And then we can go downstairs and you can see for yourself.” Eyeing him suspiciously, Bilbo realised his coat and scarf had been removed and were carefully folded over a chair-and his bag was resting lopsidedly against the chest of drawers.

“What?” he asked after he had swallowed half the glass. Following his line of sight, Thorin hummed.

“I am afraid Bofur told me how he met you and Frodo-and Bifur and Bombur were keen to add their observations,” he confessed immediately. “I asked them to bring your things in here-Frodo’s are in the next room to this. I must insist that you stay with us until you have the money and then you can decide where to go.” He gave a lopsided smile. “I owe you far more than a roof over your head, Bilbo.”

“And if I wanted to stay with Bofur instead?” Bilbo asked sharply, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The room was magnificent, with high ceilings, walls half-panelled with oak and huge windows covered with full length green velvet curtains. A bookcase was crammed with reference works and histories and a green and gold carpet covered all but the corners of the floor. Thorin took a deep breath though something akin to hurt flashed briefly across his eyes.

“Then I would respect your decision…but grieve that I am unable to repay my debts,” he admitted. Bilbo stood up.

“I expect Frodo is with Fili and Kili?” he asked as the other man rose.

“They seem most taken with him,” he said wryly. “Kili especially. He seemed wary initially but they’ve spent the last half hour laughing…”

“He does go to school but it’s hard to make friends when you’re new and can’t go round to anyone’s home because you can’t reciprocate,” Bilbo murmured. “I suspect he will love having company his own age.” He pursed his lips and his eyes unfocussed for a second. “I accept your offer, Thorin. If Frodo is happy here, I will stay until after the holiday when the banks open.” And because he was looking, he saw the relief flood Thorin’s expression, followed by a shot of determination.

“Thank you,” Thorin said, his tone heartfelt. “I guess you would appreciate something to eat as well. No offence but Frodo was very worried about you. I had Oin check you out and he said…”

“I’m malnourished,” Bilbo completed for him. “I know. But I am a writer and that just doesn’t pay-well, enough and regularly to pay rent and food in a strange city. So I do whatever I can to make money for rent and food. Sometimes things are better than others. And Erebor coming up to the holidays is…not welcoming. Frodo is a growing boy and he needs everything that I can provide and more. I go without.”

Thorin’s face was suddenly shadowed and he nodded, recalling the choice he himself had made so many times when the boys were small and work was scarce.

“There really is no choice when you have children depending on you,” he sighed. “Bilbo-I promise you need not worry about anything any more. You will have warmth, safety, food…and what I so shamefully denied you. Please give me a chance-and trust me to make up for what I did.” Suddenly Bilbo was tired, hungry and worried for his nephew and Thorin’s penance was of little importance, though he could tell the other man’s sincerity.

“Just take me to Frodo,” he said and followed his friend along a magnificent corridor and then down a sweeping staircase and back into the Hall. There were voices in the room to the left and Bilbo walked in to find Frodo, Kili and Fili all playing on the games console, chattering and exchanging opinions on the game as the rest of the Company lounged on a variety of red leather couches in front of a roaring fire. Everyone looked relaxed but they all scrambled to their feet as Bilbo entered-though none so quick as Frodo, who hit his Uncle like a small missile, clutching him fiercely.

“Are you okay?” he asked urgently as Bilbo hugged him.

“Absolutely fine, m’lad,” he reassured the boy. “Thorin took very good care of me and put me in a lovely room. I think he has a nice room for you as well.” He crouched down. “That’s if you don’t mind staying here for a few days…” The boy glanced up-then over at the grinning boys. Kili was giving a thumb’s up and Fili was nodding.

“I-I’d like that…” he admitted. “Can we? Please?” Bilbo smiled.

“Of course,” he said. “And I heard you’d been fed.” Frodo gave a huge grin.

“I had the most awesome sausages…they were this big…” He demonstrated with his hands. “And spuds and onion gravy and loads of peas. Miss Dis gave me extra peas and I ate Kili’s as well because he doesn’t like peas…” The dark-haired boy winced and tried to make shushing gestures as his mother started to laugh.

“Never mind…I don’t mind…though it’s nice to have a boy here who will actually eat his greens,’ she commented. Bilbo smiled.

“Frodo’s a good boy with his eating,” he replied. “He’ll eat anything.”

“Except artichokes,” Frodo amended. “That tin you got once was like eating putty.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know what putty tastes like,” Bilbo commented as Bombur entered, carrying an enormous tray laden with plates of food and canapes. Chicken wings, mini Yorkshire puddings stuffed with beef and horseradish sauce, little baked potatoes, slices of pulled pork and apple sauce, mini Welsh rarebits, slices of quiche, slices of bread, brie and cranberry tarts, salad, pigs in blankets, mini pizzas and garlic bread covered the coffee table. And everyone stood back as Bilbo and Frodo were given the first refusal at the food. Dis handed them plates andthen smiled.

“There’s plenty more,” she reminded him as he hovered before his gnawing hunger took over. Thorin smiled as he heaped his plate with the food and even Frodo took a few pieces more before the boys then everyone else piled in. Soon the room was filled with everyone eating, drinking and laughing, seated on the couches or on the carpets by the fire. Frodo remained stuck by the boys as they teased him gently at where he was able to hide all the food. Thorin made sure everyone else was served before he finally helped himself and found himself seated on the rug by Bilbo, memories of the Quest running through his memory. Everyone had been astonished that Bilbo could pack away more food in one sitting than Bombur-which he had explained was down to his metabolism. Everyone had teased the small man and Thorin recalled every sassy word he had said, then shook himself. He really was a hopeless case, at the time so wrapped up in his mission to regain Erebor and clear his family name that he hadn’t recognised that his friendship with Bilbo was far beyond what he had sought…and he was only realising as he was stabbed by the poisoned dagger and lost it all. Giving a grim smile, he shook his head.

“Penny for them,” Bilbo said softly, leaning closer and resting his garlic bread back on his plate. Thorin chuckled.

“It would take far more than that to clear these thoughts,” he murmured. “Five years I have been searching and you find me.”

“I think your friends found me as well,” Bilbo pointed out. Thorin’s shoulders slumped.

“It never should have been necessary,” he said with self-loathing. “I am a monster…” Bilbo glanced over at the boys, sitting on the couch and giggling at some boyish joke.

“I think Fili and Kili would disagree,” he corrected him with a smile, taking a bite of his garlic bread. “They are happy and relaxed. It’s clear they’re at ease and much loved.”

“Even monsters love their offspring,” Thorin said grimly.

“But they aren’t are they?” Bilbo reminded him, his eyes thoughtful. “Monsters _only_ care for their own offspring. You looked after your nephews when you had nothing. You went without food and worked insane hours to ensure they were warm and fed. You have looked after your friends since you regained Erebor. And you are generous in your gifts to charities.” Thorin laid his plate down.

“Not generous enough if you were still homeless,” he murmured, his brow furrowed but Bilbo sighed.

“Thorin-you may be a huge pain in the ass, the most stubborn man I ever met and in possession of the worst temper but you are not a King or a God,” he said tartly, spraying crumbs. “You do what you can and word is that you are respected, admired and a good employer.” He sighed. “I am still angry about what happened…but not all that anger is directed at you. Others took advantage of the situation and took what was mine from me. Sometime over the next couple of days, we will need to talk but as it is the holidays and I have agreed to stay here-for Frodo’s sake-I propose a truce.”

Thorin looked up, his eyes wary.

“I will try not to snark my way through the entire holiday and you will stop acting like you have murdered half of New Erebor and should be on trial for eating babies for breakfast.” Bilbo’s voice was firm. Allowing his features to settle into the impassive mask he had so often used over the last five years, Thorin nodded.

“I agree,” he rumbled. “I shall endeavour to act less…guilty.” Bilbo smirked and then punched him in the shoulder.

“Do you want that quiche?” he asked and stole the slice before Thorin could reply. Instead, the CEO found himself chuckling at Bilbo’s satisfied expression as he bit into the pastry. A weight lifted from his shoulders and for once, he found himself looking forward to the holiday.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.


	5. Five

**Five.**

The house was quiet when Bilbo woke and he automatically checked his father’s watch. It was actually eight in the morning already but the house was quiet, though warm. Swiftly, he got up and went in search of Frodo, finding him-as expected-in the next room. The boy was awake and reading his book diligently, though his pale face lit with a huge smile at seeing his guardian.

“Have you been awake long, my boy?” he asked cheerily and Frodo closed his book with a snap.

“About an hour,” he said. “I’ve finished all my homework and I’m hungry…” Bilbo grinned.

“Grab your wash things and let’s clean you up first before we go for food,” he said. “Can’t put our hosts off their food by being all stinky, can we?”

“I’m not stinky!” Frodo protested with a giggle as Bilbo tickled him. “I had a wash yesterday morning…” Grinning, Bilbo wafted in front of his nose with his hand.

“Very stinky!” he teased and grabbed Frodo and his little wash bag, tucking the boy under his arm and heading to the bathroom. He ran the bath as he grabbed his own wash bag and the thick, fluffy towels that had been left in his room and then returned to have a quick but thorough bath with Frodo. The bath was enormous, large enough for three people with jets and lights and Bilbo knew his nephew would want a longer play in the future. But as he felt his stomach grumbling for breakfast, they hopped out, dried and dressed in their spare clothes and padded along the corridor in search of food. As they reached the stairs, they found Fili and Kili, who were debating about waking someone up and were both incredibly relieved to see the two.

“Mum has banned us from cooking since we tried to make her and Uncle Thorin breakfast in bed and managed to set fire to the microwave," Fili explained. “I mean, we explained what happened and I’m pretty sure we can do it now without the flames but…well, you haven’t met Mum when she’s mad but she’s much scarier than Thorin.”

"I suspect we don’t want to test that,” Bilbo commented, a wry expression on his face. He had met Thorin at his worst and had some gauge, at least. Frodo looked worried.

“So no breakfast?” he asked quietly. But Fili and Kili grabbed Bilbo’s arms.

“Uncle Bilbo here is a grown up so he's allowed to cook,” Kili said excitedly.

“I’m not sure that…”

“Uncle Bilbo is a brilliant cook,” Frodo said loyally. “When things are better, he makes the most astonishing biscuits and scones. And roasts. And…”

“But does he do breakfasts?” Fili asked urgently. Frodo nodded. “Perfect!” the blond boy said and began to drag the unresisting Bilbo down the stairs. “Thank Mahal. I thought we may have to wake Thorin and he…can’t cook any better than we can.”

“That I know,” Bilbo commented, walking into the kitchen and beginning to explore the place. It was huge, magnificently appointed and light and airy with a large scrubbed pine table dominating the centre of the quarry tiled floor while gleaming white units and silver appliances made the place look clean and welcoming. He put the kettle in and set some bread to toast while he investigated the huge double fridge. Then he brought out bacon, eggs, black pudding, sausages, tomatoes, potatoes and more bread. “Traditional fry up?” Fili and Kili looked up from the cupboard, where they were gathering up everything that could possibly be spread on toast and nodded.

“Bet you’re even better than Mum,” Kili commented, grabbing chocolate spread, peanut butter and grape jelly. Fili’s arms were full of jams and honey.

“She always burns the bacon,” he admitted. “And will only make scrambled eggs…” Bilbo looked appalled.

“Eggs should be fried in a fry up!” he said in an offended tone, though his eyes were twinkling. Swiftly, he made a pot of tea and poured cups for the boys, though all put in several sugars and lots of milk. Meanwhile, Bilbo oversaw the boys spreading their toast and pulled out the frying pans to begin breakfast. Soon, there were the delicious aromas of frying bacon filling the room, along with sausages grilling in the oven and the pop and crackle of eggs frying. He glanced around, seeing the boys playing with some actions figures that Fili and Kili had brought from their rooms and he took a sip of his tea. A sense of contentment washed over him, memories of family breakfasts back home in Bag End swirling around him. When family came over it was always tradition to make a huge fry-up (otherwise known as a ‘Shire Breakfast’ though it usually included mushrooms) and Bilbo had been raised to be hospitable and a good host. Cooking always made him feel at peace.

But he started as the kitchen door opened and Thorin walked in. The boys looked up for all of half a second before turning back to their game as the man settled into the seat closest to Bilbo, yawning and looking half-asleep.

“Morning!” Bilbo said cheerily, pouring hot water over two huge spoons of instant coffee and handing the mug to Thorin.

“That must be what that painful light means,” Thorin grumbled, sipping the almost scalding drink with relief.

“Hung over?” Bilbo asked loudly and cheerily, sliding a beautifully fried egg onto a plate with sausage, bacon, fried bread, fried potatoes and a slice of tomato in front of Frodo. He prepared two more plates deftly for the boys and then looked at Thorin.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Two paracetamol, two ibuprofen and a new head please,” Thorin muttered, half-closing his eyes.

“Well, you were trying to outdrink Bofur and Dwalin,” Bilbo commented.

“No one can outdrink Dwalin," Thorin groaned.

“Which you should know,” Bilbo told him smartly. “I presume we won’t see him before noon?”

“At the earliest,” Thorin groaned.

“You could always go back to bed,” Bilbo offered. “I promise to stop the boys destroying the house.”

“No one can promise that,” Thorin groaned, taking another gulp of coffee.

“Not even Dis?” Bilbo asked slyly as Thorin groaned.

“Dis is out,” he explained. “Christmas Eve, she goes for a hair appointment and doesn’t come back until late afternoon. My punishment for getting drunk is to watch the boys and a house full of drunken friends and family.” Bilbo laid a full plate of food in front of him and put his own down in the table with a bang. He was rewarded by a flinch and a wince from Thorin.

“That won’t do at all,’ he said firmly, sitting and eyeing his breakfast. “I am here now and I am sure I can keep an eye on the boys until you’re feeling better.” He sliced into his sausage. “Though I do need to go into town.” He paused. “I need to get Frodo a present…” Thorin’s eyes snapped open and he frowned.

“We can go shopping,” he offered. “Once I’ve finished and the boys have cleaned up, we can head into the Dale Centre and you can make your purchases.” He gave a wan smile. “I can distract Frodo while you buy for him.” Blinking, Bilbo swallowed his mouthful of food and then gave a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he said and then frowned as his quick ears heard the sounds of heavy steps thudding across the hall floor. “I presume the others will want breakfast?” Thorin chuckled and dipped his fried bread in his egg.

“You’ve cooked plenty and they can fend for themselves,” he said firmly. “Eat up, my friend. You are a guest here.” Grinning, Bilbo glanced over to Frodo, who was carefully smearing an inch thick layer of chocolate spread on his toast all the way to the edges and nodded as the door slammed open and Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Bifur, Oin, Dori, Ori, Balin and Nori all erupted into the room. Everyone looked severely hung over but in good spirits and headed en masse to the range to investigate the kettle and the frying pans. Bilbo sat back and smiled, sipping his tea as Bombur took over.

It was as if he’d never been away.

-o0o-

Dwalin remained in bed while Dori and Ori had left to visit other relatives and Gloin very cautiously drove his car back home before he got into more trouble with his wife. The Ur family went home to collect their bags and tidy up before coming over for the evening, leaving Thorin, Fili, Kili, Frodo, Bilbo, Oin, Nori and Balin behind. Of these, Oin and Balin had no desire to brave the throng in the Christmas Eve City. So the three adults and three boys headed into the city with Frodo’s eyes huge as he peered through the window at the brilliant lights, outlining snowflakes, trees and stars. Bilbo glanced at his nephew with a sigh: he had very little money but what he had would scarcely give the boy the presents he deserved, particularly as it was clear that Thorin’s nephews would have all they asked for. He never wanted Frodo to feel like a poor relation but he knew, in his heart, that their lack was obvious. He just hoped that Fili and Kili would remain kind to the younger boy when it was obvious he would barely be getting anything.

Watching him between driving, Thorin read the emotions on his face and sighed inwardly. Though he couldn’t read this Bilbo quite as well as he could five years earlier, it took little imagination to calculate what he was considering. He had wrestled those same thoughts every Christmas and birthday from the days the boys were born until Smaug had been defeated at last...and to see Bilbo suffering the same because of him was yet another cruel stab of guilt. It was for certain that he could not allow this to go on any longer.

When they arrived, Nori swiftly vanished, saying he would be in touch and would make his own way back to the house, leaving the others by the car. But it was only when they reached the exit from the car park, on the fifth level of the gloriously decorated Dale Shopping Centre, with lights everywhere and the sounds of carols ringing through the levels above the hubbub of the thronging crowds, that Thorin turned to Bilbo.

“Buy what you want and need,” he said in a low voice. Bristling, Bilbo looked up into his clear blue eyes.

“I’ll thank you to mind your own business,” he snapped, instinctively dropping his hand to his pocket. “I can manage perfectly well...” Thorin sighed.

“Bilbo-no one would doubt your courage or determination-or the wonders you have done with so little and under such restricted circumstance...but things are different now,”

“How?” Bilbo snarked.

“You have plenty of money at your disposal,” Thorin reminded him. Suddenly, Bilbo’s shoulders slumped.

“So you say,” he said wearily, glancing at Frodo, who was pointing at the decorations in the shapes of bells and baubles. Fili and Kili were chattering away, nineteen to the dozen, allowing the men to finish their discussion. “But I recall you said I would be paid for my efforts.” Thorin winced.

“Bilbo, I...” he began but Bilbo’s hand snapped up and silenced him.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,” Bilbo said sharply. “Your word doesn’t seem to have been worth much so far.” The CEO stiffened and took a deep breath.

“I have not offered excuses because there are none,” Thorin said in a low voice, his eyes sweeping over the rich vista below. “I have shamed myself and my family. I sought you for five years to make right that wrong. Allow me to start now, before I can finally hand over what is owed.”

“I don’t want charity,” Bilbo said sharply. “I am a Baggins of Bag...” And then a pained look crossed his eyes and he looked away. “I am a Baggins. My father taught me not to accept charity.”

“Then call it an advance,” Thorin said quietly. “Against the monies owed. You can list the purchases and their costs and Gloin will faithfully deduct it from your fourteenth. I guarantee you will not be a mite less wealthy afterwards but it would enable you to give Frodo all those things you are scourging yourself about not being to afford. About failing him because you have not made enough for him to have as much as his peers.” He sighed. “Believe me-that emotion is an old friend. And I would not wish it on another for all the gold in Erebor.”

Then he reached down and pulled the heavy iron right off the middle finger of his hand. Bilbo frowned: he had never seen Thorin without the ring, though it clearly didn’t have much intrinsic value. Then he handed it over to Bilbo.

“This ring was given me by my father, as my father’s was given him by his,” he said. “It is made of the iron in the western seam of the Lonely Mountain of Erebor. A tradition of the Durin family that runs back to ancient times.” Bilbo frowned.

“Why not gold?” he asked curious despite himself. Thorin hummed.

“My distant ancestor felt that iron…metal…was our heritage,” he explained. “Many of our line were smiths, creators of fine weapons or tools of peerless quality and iron was the medium in which they worked. And iron was a sign of humility. The mountain was our heritage but it is loaned us by Mahal until the world is remade: to claim its most precious riches for our family alone would be hubris of the highest order.”

Bilbo pursed his lips, his brows dipping.Pride was an affliction that Thorin seemed to suffer from and he had got the impression it was a curse of his line. The taller man looked up with the slightest smile on his lips.

“And I _am_ aware of the hypocrisy of such a statement from my lips but you asked,” he conceded. “So my father gave me the ring when I reached majority and it has never left my hand from that hour…until now.” He looked into Bilbo’s eyes. “That ring represents my honour, my name, the legacy of the Durin family. I give it to you as surety against the monies you are owed. It is irreplaceable and priceless to me. My sister will see that it is missing and so will my nephews: they will accept no dissembling and they all heard me promise you the fee you earned.” He gave a wry smile. “Should I dishonour our family name by failing to honour the debt, my sister will undoubtedly kill me and assume my place at the head of Erebor where her first action would be to pay you.” He nodded. “You have nothing to fear, Bilbo. I let you down but it will never… _can never_ happen again.”

Bilbo closed his hands around the metal-still warm from Thorin’s hand-and nodded.

“Good, then,” he said, glancing over at Frodo, who was now observing him thoughtfully. Fili and Kili were nudging each other and whispering excitedly. “So maybe we should go shopping.” He gestured. “Lead on. You know this place.” Thorin cleared his throat.

“Ah. About that…” he began with a grimace. “I just always go to Imladris Department Stores and get what I need there…” Bilbo firmly took Frodo’s hand, slipping the ring into the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

“Then lead us there,” he invited. Thorin looked desperately at Fili.

“A little help,” he mouthed as the older boy burst out laughing. Bilbo stared-and then rolled his eyes.

“Oh Yavanna-really?” he asked. “I know on the quest, Balin never let you lead us anywhere but…”

“Uncle’s sense of direction got lost years ago and never found its way home,” Kili sniggered. “You never ask Uncle for directions. He once got lost in Erebor! And the garden!”

“I was having a contemplative wander…”

“Oh for the love of…” Bilbo grumbled and walked to the store directory and map on the wall. “Fine! I’ll lead.” And he marched off with Frodo trotting alongside as Thorin ran his hands through his hair.

“You gave him your ring, Uncle,” Fili murmured.

“Yes.”

“The ring you never take off.”

“Yes.”

“He’s the friend you’ve been looking for for years.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever done something that you felt so bad about that you could never rest until you made up for it?” Thorin said as they walked after Bilbo.

“No.”

“Nope…well, maybe that one time I peed in Fili’s bed and…”

“When was that? And Ew!”

“I think it may have been last year…”

“Last _year_? You are disgusting.”

“Well, remember when you and that squirrel…”

Thorin shook his head. This was going to be a _long_ afternoon…


	6. Six

**Six:**

Dis had been waiting when they arrived back, smiling and relaxed and already dressed in her scarlet cocktail dress and jewels, but everyone had been too cold to offer any comment as they tried to shuffle into the entrance hall, arms full of bags and packages. Her smiled slipped a little as she inspected Thorin.

“Have you been spoiling my boys?” she asked sharply as he hung up his coat and scarf and shoved his gloves in his coat pockets. Fili and Kili carefully hung up their own coats, though Kili’s had its arms inside out and then both carefully helped Frodo out of his.

“We’ve been helping Bilbo with his shopping,” he offered warily. “And making sure Frodo has everything he needs.”

“Fili and Kili were very helpful,” Bilbo put in. “They’re good lads.” A smile replaced the frown on her face and she looked fondly at her sons.

“That they are…most of the time,” she conceded. “Are you satisfied, Master Baggins? Did you get everything you wished.”

“Bilbo,” he insisted and then nodded. “Yes-once I was finally persuaded that I actually had access to the funds I needed.” Dis pursed her lips.

“Oh? Did my useless lump of a brother do something to make you doubt that you did?” she asked as Thorin winced.

“Yes,” he said gruffly, gathering the bags that were his and walking off, heading down a passage to the wing that Bilbo hadn’t been into yet. The smaller man sagged, feeling for him. No matter what he felt, he could tell that Thorin’s regret and guilt was genuine and his sister’s words had been thoughtless.

“Nothing in the last five years,” Bilbo amended more caustically than he had intended. “But my own insecurities required assurances which your brother provided amply. He was very patient and generous.” Her brows furrowed.

“Good, then,” she said and watched him turn away. “Master…Bilbo. Do not think me harsh to my brother. You have not had to endure his pining and sighing for the past five years.”

“No, Madame-but you have not had to endure his rejection and the subsequent events that have befallen my nephew and I either,” he retorted. “So if I deem that his apology is making muster, then neither you nor any other have the right to make him feel bad about the situation. Is that understood?”

“I…”

“ _Is that understood?_ ” Bilbo’s voice was steely. Dis looked surprised.

“It is,” she said and sighed. “The others will be arriving in an hour.” Bilbo nodded, grabbed his bags and then winked to Frodo.

“Shall we wrap some presents?” he whispered as the boy nodded, almost bouncing with excitement. Swiftly, they scampered upstairs and headed to Bilbo’s room, placing the bags on the floor and getting out three huge rolls of bright red paper covered with jolly Santas. Bilbo had bought tags, gold and silver gel pens, tags, scissors and sticky tape and set to wrapping with vigour. Frodo had been assigned the tags and was lying on his front, a pen in his hand and tongue sticking through his teeth, concentrating as he did his best handwriting.

“Fili and Kili,” Bilbo announced, swiftly wrapping up the game they had bought. It was one Frodo had played and loved back East and he hoped the boys would enjoy it as well.

“To…Fee…Lee…and Kee…Lee…lots of love…Frodo and Bilbo…X…X…” Frodo murmured very slowly as he wrote carefully in gold. Bilbo took the opportunity to swiftly wrap Frodo’s presents while his nephew was distracted. Then he glanced over and smiled. “And that’s very good, Frodo. I couldn’t have done better myself.” The boy looked up with a huge grin.

“I wanted to do my best because they’re my friends,” he said honestly. “Bilbo-how long does it take to make friends?” The man looked up at the boy’s tone, hearing the worry and he smiled.

“Sometimes, the moment you meet someone, you know that you just click and that you’ll be friends,” he said. “Almost as it you have been waiting for one another your entire lives. Other times, friendships grow slowly, over months and years until you realise that person is one you trust implicitly and can rely on, no matter what.”

“So Fili and Kili are my friends?” Frodo checked, his face still worried.

“What does your heart tell you?” Bilbo asked, handing the boy the parcel to stick the label onto. After a second, Frodo smiled.

“We’re friends,” he said and stuck the label on decisively.

Despite his recent lack of funds, Bilbo had torn around the department store and found gifts for everyone in the Company, as well as Dis and the boys. Good to his word, Thorin had paid without flinching and had ensured that Bilbo was able to get everything he wanted. Of course, he had only bought for others-save some better clothes for the day itself, for he was ashamed of his shabby appearance. But the customs of his home dictated that Bilbo give generous gifts and while he had been thrown out of the Shire, the customs ran in his very bones: the ability to finally make the day special for Frodo was what had finally overcome his resistance.

He smiled as he wrapped, thumbing his phone to play a selection of Christmas tunes and set to wrapping with good heart. Frodo at one point asked him if he would go to ‘wash his hands’ for five minutes-which Bilbo knew was to allow the boy to wrap the present he had bought with Thorin’s help-so he dutifully went to the bathroom and freshened up, checking his watch and realising they were already a few minutes late. But he still allowed the boy to finish before he rejoined him and they wrapped the last parcel, cleaned Frodo up and checked they looked presentable before they went down to join the party.

In fact, they found the family ready in coats and outdoor gear and at Thorin’s urging, Bilbo swiftly got Frodo warmly dressed and then pulled on his own outdoor gear, then followed Balin and Dwalin to their car. The older brother was kind and welcoming, chatting to the eager Frodo and explaining about the history of the city while Dwalin drove silently, his keen eyes flicking to inspect Bilbo in the rear view mirror. The Durin family led the way, driving a little faster than usual which suggested they had been waiting for their guests but unwilling to hasten them. A pang of guilt shot through Bilbo, for he had not wanted to disrupt anyone’s plans by accepting the offer of lodgings for the holiday.

“Where are we going?” Frodo asked, his eyes huge as he stared at the elaborate decorations that illuminated the streets against the inky sky. Snow lined the streets and edged the buildings but they swiftly pulled into a private car park and left the cars.

“Durin Square,” Balin explained, his large hand closing around Frodo’s. “Legend has it that our distant ancestor first stood here and gazed upon distant Erebor, deciding that it would be a fine home for his people. Of course, his own Kingdom was in Khazad-Dum but a leader always anticipates the future and he had long been warned by Mahal that no home of our people was forever.”

“That sounds sad,” Frodo said in a subdued voice. Balin squeezed his hand and grinned warmly, his eyes twinkling.

“History is a long tale of losses and gains, of sadness and happiness because they mix of these is what life itself is about,” he reminded the lad. “Our own history has been dark at many times yet we are here and we are all together for this holiday. We should always be grateful for whatever we have and for those we love. And that is why we’re here.”

“Every year, on Christmas Eve, there is a service in Durin Square where we honour the traditions of our forebears,” Thorin added, his voice carrying as they approached the crowds. The Square was already busy but there was a little gate in the railings and the security guard allowed them through without question. Fili nodded to the guard and Frodo fell silent as they clambered up onto a small platform, allowing them an excellent view across the packed Square and the people thronging there.

“As descendants of Durin, we are granted a position of honour,” the blonde boy explained in a loud whisper. “It means we have to be on our best behaviour-no messing around.” Frodo gulped.

“Okay,” he whispered, his other hand finding Bilbo’s and squeezing hard.

“Frodo, you will be fine,” he whispered, leaning forward. “This is a gift, an experience we would never have had otherwise. Look at all the people and the lights. And look above! The sky is black and there are a million stars…” Dwalin leaned forward and handed them each a candle which Dis lit.

“The service honours the beliefs of our ancestors, the Khuzd people, but also incorporates some of the traditions of Men, as well as Sindari elements,” she explained. “But all focus on light amid darkness, prayers to the Valar for light and success in the coming year and protection against harm.”

“Yule back home asks for fruitfulness, fertility and family,” Frodo murmured. “It’s the shortest day after which days get longer and the sun starts to return once more. There are candles and bonfires and lots of food.”

“Sounds like here,” Kili put in, helping Frodo to light his candle and drawing him to the front. “Stand with me-you get an awesome view.”

As they shuffled to light their candles and get a decent view, Bilbo found himself next to Thorin at the edge of the little platform, surrounded by thousands but almost private.

“Thanks for bringing us,” he murmured, glancing up at the taller man. The light of the candle was casting shadows over Thorin’s face in a very interesting way and Bilbo forced his own attention back to the flickering flame held in his own hands.

“We come every year,” Thorin murmured softly. “The boys love it and I think Dis does too. She recalls similar ceremonies from her childhood. It sets up the holiday and at least respects the Gods who have favoured us by still being together, despite everything.” Bilbo frowned. Thorin had never struck him as being overly religious: traditional, maybe and very respectful of the ways and legends of his people but never anything overtly ostentatious. There had been others in the Company who were far more observant.

“In the Shire, there is a Yule Log and a Yule candle. Both burn for the full six days of celebrations, warding off darkness and evil spirits. We decorate our homes with vegetation to honour Yavanna and ask her for fertility for the year to come. That is why I was selling wreaths-every home has one where I come from and across most of Eriador.” Thorin gave a slight smile.

“We are more likely to use lights or crystals,” he admitted. “Crystal-paned lanterns are most traditional but expensive and difficult to source. Lights, feasts and family are the essentials of the holiday for us,”

“And presents,” Kili hissed. But his brother nudged him as the voice of the priest leading the service boomed out of the speakers. Bilbo watched Thorin bow his head, his eyes closed as he listened to the words and he focussed on the flame of his candle.

_…lights flickering amid the dark of Ravenhill, the approaching torches of Azog and Bolg, their men wickedly armed and hunting the members of the Company. The panic in their own ranks muted by grim determination not to go down without a fight, not to accept defeat when they are so close to victory…_

_…Thorin returning from that fateful confrontation, shrugging off Azog’s wound as a scratch. Refusing Oin’s offer of treatment…and gradually sliding into paranoid, despotic rage, looking for blame and treason where there was none. Bilbo recalled the pain and confusion he had felt, seeing the person he cared for above all slowly disintegrate, unable to prepare and offer any strategy other than ‘fight them to the end’…_

_…sneaking out of the camp that last night to find Gandalf, handing over the proofs for the case to ensure that, no matter what, Smaug would fall. Seeing Bard fall on the proof and begin on the article that would slay SmaugCorp once and for all…_

_…begging Thranduil, the Police and Crime Commissioner of New Erebor, to come. Revealing their purpose, his own borderline illegal actions…but more of the definitely illegal, immoral and potentially genocidal acts of Azog and Bolg as they sought to murder the eleven members of the Company, dismembering them and erasing them from existence. Agreeing the terms that had condemned Thorin to at least facing a judge for his own actions…and then returning…_

_“TRAITOR! SEWER RAT! I SHOULD SNAP YOUR NECK LIKE THE WORTHLESS TRASH YOU ARE! BEGONE FROM MY SIGHT BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND. YOU ARE NO LONGER ONE OF US! MAY YOU ROT WITH THE REST OF YOUR TREACHEROUS KIND!”_

_The feel of Thorin’s hands around his throat, the yawn of the drop over the cliff behind him, the incandescent hatred in Thorin’s blue eyes…none of these images would ever leave him. Nor the silence of the Company who had watched him scramble down the rocky cliff face, uncaring if he fell because the confrontation had him shaking, his heart shattered by the words. Azog was approaching but Thranduil’s forces were closer, demanding the surrender of Thorin’s Company in defiance of what Bilbo had agreed. Even punching the smug bastard in the face before leaving hadn’t made Bilbo feel better. And the arrival of Bard’s family and friends to help the defence of the Company hadn’t helped his situation, though it had almost certainly assisted their survival…._

_…because Thorin had cast him out, repudiating him like a rabid cur and shattering whatever there had been between them. And nothing had been said since that day…_

_…until the first moment Thorin had seen him. And then he had thrown himself upon Bilbo’s mercy in genuine penitence. The man who had cast him aside was begging him for forgiveness. The man he had befriended and willingly risked his life for. The man he had surrendered his home and his respectability for. The man he…gave up everything, even their relationship, to save…_

He glanced up, hearing Thorin’s familiar voice murmuring the words of the prayer. The little flame flickered in his hands, rallying and remaining strong. Frodo was watching, entranced as the Priest invoked Eru and Mahal and Yavanna. He spoke words of comfort and compassion, of hope for the future for warmth and fruitfulness and plenty and companionship. His own candle flickered and then the flame glowed, stronger than ever. And though the Square was filled to bursting with strangers, the whole place felt quiet and calm and at peace.

“Amen,” he murmured along with thousands of voices. And then he looked up, feeling the weight of the iron ring in his waistcoat pocket. A promise to honour what was agreed…but his heart knew that it was a promise Thorin would only ever have given to one person.

It was a time for hope and forgiveness and maybe, a brighter, better future. His hand reached out and gripped Thorin’s firmly. Those same blue eyes, now clear of paranoia and madness, widened in shock.

“I forgive you,” he said.


	7. Seven

**Seven.**

Frodo was up early-because it was Christmas Day and no matter what religion, tradition or belief system you adhered to, Christmas was an all-encompassing commercial juggernaut that meant food, presents and family, no matter if you understood the religious background or not. And Bilbo-whose childhood traditions of Yule were different-had always celebrated Christmas with Frodo because all his school friends did and he didn’t want the boy to miss out, no matter what else they couldn’t afford. Exiled from their homes, Frodo was always the outsider and sharing tales of Christmas was one way the boy could connect with his classmates. Tiredly, Bilbo opened his eyes to see the excited shape bouncing on his bed.

“It’s morning!” he whispered loudly, his face flushed with excitement. “Happy Christmas.”

Bilbo stifled a groan. He had slept poorly, his dreams wracked with guilt and scenes of the Quest, from the early days all the way through to the hideous climax and his own departure. He had tossed and turned, his mind running far too fast to allow his body to fall back into blissful rest and he had only slithered back into slumber an hour or so earlier. But Frodo was here and vibrating in excitement.

“Happy Christmas, my boy,” he said sleepily but forced himself to sit up and face the lad. Automatically, he checked his watch and saw the hands showing it was already half past seven. He blinked. “Is anyone else up?”

“Fili and Kili,” was the unsurprising reply. “I met them in the hallway but their Mom, Thorin and the others are still snoring.” He paused. “I’m…” He bit his lip.

“Hungry?” Bilbo guessed with a wry smile. “Can’t have that for a moment! Come on, m’boy. Let’s get you fed-and we could pick up those two rascals as well…as long as they don’t set fire to anything.”

“I’ll keep ‘em in line, Uncle,” Frodo promised and launched off the bed, scampering across the floor in his bare feet and sprinting out down the hallway. Pausing only to grab the old slippers he had refused to let go and the dressing gown he had preserved through a combination of sentimentality and practicality, he had followed and was greeted to the sight of the two Durin boys racing Frodo-all of them barefoot-along the carpeted hallway, shrieking at the tops of their voices. Bilbo groaned. There was no chance that Thorin would sleep through that-or anyone else, really. The Company were all in their ‘usual’ rooms-apparently they stayed over often enough to have rooms assigned to them, though Gloin also had an attic room for teenage Gimli, who was the only one likely to have slept through the children’s screeches.

“Sorry,” he whispered and trotted after the boys.

One pot of tea and a large plate of cinnamon and chocolate toast had the boys temporarily quiet as Bilbo contemplated what to do next. Filling the boys up with sugary treats probably wasn’t the wisest move but Bilbo knew that cinnamon toast was Frodo’s favourite and who was he to deny the boy his favourite breakfast this one day of the year? They had endured such lean times that a little treat wouldn’t kill him…though it would mean a sugar-high trio of boys for the next few hours. Contemplating the rod he’d made for his own back, he took a bite of toast and sipped his second mug of tea.

A slumped shape trailed into the kitchen, looking bleary. Bilbo blinked and then rose as the shape came to sit beside him.

“Morning, Bofur,” he said cheerily and poured a cup of very black coffee. The miner looked up, attempted a smile that approximated a grimace and then rested his head on the table.

“Is it?” the miner groaned. Smiling, the smaller man peered at the window.

“Well, night is over, the light is clear and bright and noon hasn’t happened yet so…yes, it’s morning. And good. Happy Christmas!” Bofur groaned and pulled his hat over his head.

“How can you be so cheerful?” he groaned.

“It’s easy-I don’t drink like a maniac the night before,” Bilbo told him, chewing his toast loudly. Bofur slammed his hands over his ears.

“I don’t,” he protested weakly. “But Dwalin’s challenges must be answered…”

“And he’s as useless as you in the morning,” Bilbo pointed out, rising and making some more toast. “If he emerges at all. Which, from what I can see, he doesn’t. Drink your coffee. You’ll feel better…” Grumbling, Bofur complied, his eyelids slowly opening as the caffeine kicked in and finally he sat up, watching Bilbo fry a couple of eggs for breakfast. Finally, the miner seemed to be more himself.

“So how are you doin’?” he asked mildly. “Not really had a chance to speak to you since you arrived.” There was a pause as Bilbo rested a plate in front of him.

“Eat,” he invited but sat down, attacking his own plate. The boys were playing some sort of complicated game with Kili’s action figures so he had a few moments to himself. Bofur took a bite and nodded.

“It’s good,” he mumbled, chewing. But his eyes were on Bilbo as he swallowed. “Are you alright?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked. Bofur sighed and laid his fork down.

“Thorin,” he said simply. Bilbo frowned. “You know how he is.”

_Maybe better than you,_ the shorter man thought but said nothing.

“Oh?”

“Well, he overruled your wishes and kept you here, rather than letting you come home with us,” Bofur pointed out.

“But you stayed here,” Bilbo reminded him.

“Only because you were here.”

Bilbo stared.

“Thorin expects the world to fall in line with what he wishes,” Bofur grumbled, bisecting his egg pointedly. “Because he’s the Durin. The owner of Erebor. The hero who reclaimed the company. But everyone forgets that he only did that because of you-and he sent you away without a penny of what you were owed!”

“I hadn’t forgotten. And neither did he,” Bilbo reminded him calmly. Seeing Bofur clearly upset was unsettling since the man was almost preternaturally good-natured.

“But you have forgiven him, haven’t you?” Bofur asked him flatly. There was a pause and then Bilbo nodded.

“It’s that time of year,” he began lamely. “And though I’m still angry about some of it, I can see he’s genuinely sorry and…”

“And because it’s Thorin, you’ve let him off the hook. Just like everyone else.” There was definite bitterness in Bofur’s voice.

“I forgave him because I thought back and realised that I knew there was something wrong,” Bilbo replied, his tone hardening a touch. He was flattered that his friend was willing to be offended on his behalf but he knew he had the right to make his own determinations…and decide when and if someone had earned forgiveness. “I didn’t do anything about it-not really. It was obvious that Thorin was becoming more paranoid-signs of a mental illness, if nothing else. But instead of insisting that Oin intervened, I just sat back until it was obvious we would all die if we did nothing. And when I was thrown out, not one of you stepped up or spoke up for me.”

“I know. And it’s haunted me to this day-so I am determined that none of us should get off lightly,” Bofur said honestly. “But Thorin seems to get a free pass because of who he is. No matter how dreadfully he behaves, it is excused and forgotten. Yet he never faced the hardships you did as a result of his actions.”

_He never faced my hardships…but most of you never knew what he faced after his family lost their home and wealth,_ he thought, recalling late night conversations with Thorin as one or other of them took a late watch. Thorin was a confusing mixture of contradictions, filled with pride and devotion to his honour and that of his line but willing to do anything if it would protect and support his family. A man brave enough to undertake a hopeless quest against impossible odds but who never got up the courage to confess his feelings for the burglar. A man who fussed and worried over any suggestion of wound to one of his Company but who refused help for his own injuries-including the poisoned one that almost killed him. A man who was capable of terrible anger and cruelty in his rage but who was tender and protective to those he loved.

_… “There’s nothing worse than hearing the boys whimpering in hunger during the night. Nothing worse than seeing the misery in their eyes when there is nothing on the plate…or as near to nothing as makes no difference. And while I should be able to provide for them sometimes there is no work or pay is withheld or…or I am cheated.”_

_Bilbo recalled the crashing shame in his eyes and voice that had accompanied the words._

_“Mahal knows, I would never want to cheat anyone working for me. But sometimes I wonder if the gods are out to make my life harder. And I have done everything I could to put food on the table and a roof above our heads. Work, legal and…less so. Serving men who are dishonest and cruel. I have gathered trash and picked rubbish. I have sold my blood to buy hot food when the boys were sick and needed warmth. I have sold every heirloom we possessed. I have done…many things I am ashamed of to ensure they survived, things that remain between Mahal and I and which Dis will never know. Because I promised I would protect and care for her and her children when Vili died…and that is the one vow I cannot break. No matter what else happens.”_

_“Thorin…?”_

_The smile in response to his words had been very sad and weary._

_“I would sell the flesh from my bones if it would have kept them alive and there was no other way,” Thorin had told him softly. “Though I really hope it doesn’t become necessary. Because I would rather spend the remainder of my life with someone who cares for me once my family are secure-even though I know that this Quest may well cost me my life…” He paused and then had looked Bilbo full in the face. “But if that is what it takes, then I’ll gladly pay the price. Because at least Dis and the boys will be secure. And I will not have failed my promise.”_

“Bilbo?”

He blinked and saw Bofur looking concerned. Wearily, he offered a smile.

“Just a memory,” he began but Bofur shook his head.

“Memories you shouldn’t have to deal with-if he hadn’t cheated you and reneged on his responsibilities,” he added sharply.

“And any one of you could have spoken up-or gone after me,” Bilbo told him bluntly. “But no one did-before, during or after the battle. I understand there was a lot going on but there were eleven of you-surely _one_ person could have spared the time to locate the Company Burglar and apologise or ask me back? There was a time between my leaving you all and when I was driven from the Shire and declared dead when you could have found me…and maybe helped. But no one did. So though Thorin was to blame for my banishment, not one of you made any effort to help. So by that reckoning, all of you owe me any apology. But Thorin is the only one who has been on his knees, asking for forgiveness. The first thing he did was apologise…well, after I’d slapped him and he assumed Frodo was my son…” He glanced at the boy who was laughing with his new friends. Fili and Kili had made more toast (rather crispy around the edges) and were building a house of cards using toast. Bofur blinked and then nodded.

“Aye…he did do that,” he conceded. “And you said you’d consider it.”

“I have.”

“And you blame all of us?”

“To some extent,” Bilbo added, looking in his friend’s eyes. “Bofur-I’m not saying this to be unkind but you have to understand that Thorin has shown nothing but remorse since I arrived. I can read him and it is genuine, of that I am sure. I know you are my friend and I was incredibly grateful to see you when you and he others rescued me from those men in Esgaroth but I will decide who I am willing to forgive and when. And honestly, after the last few years, I am just happy to be warm and well-fed and be hearing Frodo laughing once more.” The miner glanced over at the boy, his face scrunched in concentration as he balanced a pair of pieces of toast on top of the tower.

“I can see how that is a blessing,” he mumbled. “But why…?” Bilbo sighed. He had guessed his friend would be hurt that he had chosen to stay with Thorin over Bofur’s offer…but there was one irresistible driving force to his decision.

“The boys,” he revealed. “Frodo has so few people he calls friend because we are moving often and he has so little. They made him welcome and he feels…happy with them.” He cast a fond look at the raven-haired boy, his laughter uninhibited as the tower of toast collapsed. “I would not take him away from his new friends. And you and Bifur live alone. I know Bombur has children but they live away from you-and you would be coming here for Christmas. From talking to him after we arrived, I know Thalia has taken them to her parents for this year. So if I came to stay with you, Frodo would be alone among adults. You understand?”

Bofur shrugged.

“I can only imagine, never havin’ had one o’ my own,” he mumbled. “But I can see how much he means to you.” He gave a small smile. “And seeing you smile when you see him happy warms my heart.” He gave a shuddering sigh. “I only ever wanted the best for you, my friend. When you left, I wished you all the luck in the world. Sadly, it wasn’t all good luck.”

Bilbo chuckled and emptied his now-cold mug of tea.

“It’s the thought that counts,” he sniggered. “And for the record, though I am hurt that none of you made an effort to find me when it could have made a difference, there are always going to be regrets. I am back now-and do I want bitterness to sour this reunion and ruin what friendships I still have? Or do I understand that some things remain in the past and that maybe some conversations need to be had over the coming days…but without rancour or blame?”

“You’re a better man than me, Bilbo Baggins,” Bofur conceded, finishing his coffee and scraping the last scraps from his plate. He rescued a piece of toast, only lightly handled, and smeared it with honey. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Bilbo said, a weight settling in his stomach. “If only it can last.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Bofur asked as the door to the kitchen opened and Thorin and Dis walked swiftly in, scanning the place for signs of catastrophe. Bilbo shrugged.

“I’ve learned not a trust any outcome until it has finally happened,” he said bleakly. “No matter what is promised. Sometimes, things happen that take away what you hoped through no fault of your own or others…” Then he chuckled and raised his voice to the worried newcomers. “They’re alive, all limbs intact and they have been fed-though with rather more sugar than average, I’m afraid. But the presents are unopened though I wouldn’t suggest trying to prolong that state for much longer. Coffee?” Dis smiled.

“You are an absolute treasure and if my idiot brother doesn’t snap you up, I will,” she said and slumped into a seat by Fili as he offered her a slightly mangled cinnamon toast. “This is divine.” Thorin, meanwhile, was definitely blushing under his neatly-trimmed beard, his head bowed forward and hand covering his eyes in embarrassment. Bofur rose.

“I can see this is family time,” he said stiffly and walked out, still chewing his toast. Thorin slumped into the warm, newly-vacated seat.

“I apologise,” he said in a low voice. “My sister has no filter. Or discretion. Or attachment to reality. Or filter. Or diplomacy. Or…”

“I get the idea,” Bilbo interrupted him, putting a mug of very strong coffee in front of him then offering Dis an identical mug. She promptly added cream and honey. Thorin took a sip of the scalding liquid.

“I never said anything…” he murmured. Bilbo grinned.

“I seem to have heard the terms ‘moping’ ‘sighing’ ‘pining’ and ‘yearning’ used more than once with regards to the last five years,” he said primly, watching Thorin’s broad shoulders tense. “And you really aren’t that hard to read, Thorin. Well, not if someone knows you. And you are a total drama queen…” The CEO grimaced, his eyes downcast.

“I know I surrendered all rights and expectations when I treated you so abysmally five years ago,” he said softly. “But it seems my heart refuses to listen. Please-do not be offended by my sister’s presumptions of thoughtless words. I would not have what truce we have brokered between us ruined by the words of my irritating and very pushy younger sibling…” Bilbo burst out laughing.

“Truce we have brokered?” he repeated, doubled up with mirth. “Thorin-I know you were brought up to be the CEO of Erebor but this is the kitchen table of your home on Christmas morning. We’re friends. I’ve decided to forgive you-though we still need that talk. But for now, drink your coffee and I’ll make you some eggs and bacon. And then we can finally allow these children to open their presents!”


	8. Eight

**Eight**

It seemed that word had got round because the rest of the Company trailed in as Dis was eating her scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and Thorin his eggs and bacon. Bombur immediately set to work to feed the rest-Bilbo offered to help but the big man had long confessed a love of cooking and knew his best contribution was in prepared the meals. Dwalin shockingly was up-though wearing sunglasses and looking green around the gills-and his older brother was heartlessly cheerful and teasing. Dori primly managed to find yoghurt and fruit but Ori refused to eat anything except bacon and sausages-with plenty of fried potatoes. Still, Fili and Kili amused themselves by making unexpected loud noises extremely close to Dwalin and then running away laughing.

Eventually, the whining of the three boys got too wearing and everyone grabbed their various hot drinks and the remains of their breakfasts and had headed into the Living Room, finding places on the red sofas-though Dwalin was steered to a chair and a pint glass of water shoved into his hand by Thorin.

“Are you sure I can only have two aspirin every four hours?” he growled. “I mean, Bilbo’s half my size and if he can take two…”

“Ah…but my liver is alive while yours is on ITU and could barely handle an aspirin, let alone the recommended dose,” the former burglar retorted. “Drink your water!” Chuckling at a definite muttered ‘tyrannical halflings’, Thorin gestured to his nephews and they went through the tradition of divvying out the parcels. Frodo helped, grinning every time he found one for Bilbo or himself and grinning even wider when he handed on one that he and Bilbo had wrapped. Finally, they were all allocated and the unwrapping began. Fili and Kili ripped away paper without hesitation, inspecting every gift carefully and ensuring they thanked the giver in person. They were rich now but both recalled Christmases with almost nothing and a single gift, scraped together from money earned with blood and sweat to ensure they had something to open. Frodo was the same, opening his unexpected gifts from Bilbo first, his eyes shining as he found a tablet that would help him with his schoolwork, books, a new pen, some warm clothes and a simple phone that would enable him to keep in touch with his Uncle and his friends. Balin had given him a set of adventure books ‘that I read when I was a wee laddie’, Dwalin had managed to get a bike in his size, Ori some paints and paper and the others a selection of clothes and games. Gloin handed over an envelope. Frowning, Frodo opened it-and looked at a deep blue book with gold writing on it.

“What is it?’ he asked. Clearing his throat, Gloin gestured to the Company.

“We-the Company of Thorin Oakenshield-all owe your Uncle Bilbo our lives many times over,” he announced, his thick red beard moving as he talked. “We lost him and when he returned to us, he had you. That makes you one of the Company-and as we all look out for the children and younger kinsmen of each other, we have adopted you in the same way.” He lifted his chin. “That is the book of an account in KhuzdBank, the most secure financial institution in New Erebor. Each of the Company have all deposited a hundred dollars into the account for every Christmas you have had.” Bilbo gaped and snatched the book from Frodo, scanning the figures.

“Twelve thousand dollars?” he said, shocked.

“Aye…I know it’s irregular but Dis insisted that she put in as well…because she says that she only has her idiot brother still because of you,” Gloin explained, looking over to the woman. She nodded curtly.

“That’s the clean version anyway,” she confirmed, causing Thorin to wince.

“When the banks open, the day after tomorrow, I will go in with Bilbo and we can transfer the account to his oversight,” Gloin continued. “It’s registered at this address but that, of course, can be changed, when your living arrangements become more…clear.” Frodo’s eyes widened and he looked over at Fili and Kili, his expression stricken.

“You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to!” Thorin said urgently, crouching by the boy. “Your Uncle Bilbo wants what is best for you and that may mean you eventually get your own home…but I would hope that it wouldn’t be too far away so you boys could all get together.” And he smiled, the kindly smile Bilbo had glimpsed directed at his mischievous nephews before he handed over a heavy oblong parcel. “This is from Fili, Kili, their Mom and me. Happy Christmas…” Frodo gasped and nodded.

“Thank you,” he whispered and sat down to open it and reveal a games system just like the boys had with all the necessary accessories. There were a handful of games there for him-some he recognised and a couple he didn’t. For a moment he stared-and then he flung himself against Thorin and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. Thorin gently wrapped the boy in a gentle hug and gave a slight squeeze. “Thank you,” Frodo whispered again as Thorin smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured. Watching, Bilbo saw Frodo sniff and then offer a brilliant smile at his presents while Fili and Kili finished opening theirs. They hugged Frodo tightly in thanks for their game and did the same to Bilbo, who was taken by surprise at the fierce double hug.

“We know it hasn’t been easy, Master Baggins, so we really appreciate this,” Fili murmured.

“And we haven’t seen this one-but it looks awesome,” Kili added with a broad grin.

“You’re welcome,” Bilbo said automatically and smiled. “And thank you for making Frodo feel so welcomed.”

“You are both welcome,” Dis added, looking up over her indulgent bath set. Bilbo had chosen products he knew were soothing and smelled delicious. “And I cannot wait to try these out.”

“Aren’t you going to open your presents, Master Boggins?” Kili asked, his eyes wide. It was a pleading look that Bilbo was used to from his own nephew but he got the impression that Kili was very successful in using it with his guardians.

“Bilbo, please,” he said cheerfully. “And if you wish. Though I suspect I’m too old to be excited by Christmas Presents…” There were gasps.

“You’re never too old to be excited by Christmas!” Fili announced.

“Yes-just look at Uncle,” Kili added. “He’s ancient and he still looks forward to his presents!” Unable to help himself, Bilbo snatched a glance at Thorin, who had covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. The rest of the Company were less sympathetic and were roaring with laughter at their leader.

“Aye, that he does,” Oin commented.

“And you’re right about the ancient part,” Dwalin drawled from his armchair, chugging his glass of water.

“Very ancient,” Dis added with a wicked smirk. Thorin peeked from behind his hands, his eyes glittering.

“Please open the presents and distract them,” he murmured, though he was smiling. Bilbo chuckled and reached for the first parcel.

Every member of the Company had produced a present for Bilbo and he was shocked and astonished when he began to open the gaily-wrapped parcels. There was a fine tea from Dori-for the older Rison brother had chatted extensively to their burglar and knew his love of teas-while Oin’s present was a beautiful and complete set of herbs and spices from the prestige ‘Valinor’ range. Bofur’s gift was a hand-carved spice rack that would have plenty of room for all of Oin’s herbs. Bilbo felt his lips curl up in a smile, seeing the little flowers carved into the warm chestnut wood, motifs familiar from his home in the Shire but not usually used in Ereborean decorations. He looked up and met a broad grin from the miner. Bofur winked at him. Bifur had produced a lovely salad bowl and tongs carved from peach wood, the grain of the wood beautifully highlighted by the shapes of the items. Bombur gave a large book on Ereborean cookery and a box of his famous cinnamon and ginger cookies, which Frodo immediately investigated. Ori’s gift was a framed picture in oil pastels of Bilbo and Frodo, the detail perfect. The young artist looked up and his expression was worried.

“Is it okay?” he asked. “I had to draw from memory but I did manage a few preliminary sketches…”

“It’s wonderful,” Bilbo said in a choked voice and threw himself into a fierce hug around the younger man. “Thank you.”

“Don’t I get a hug?” Bofur teased.

“Wait until all the gifts are opened, laddie, and I’m sure Bilbo will thank everyone,” Balin noted from his sofa. “But that is a remarkable picture of the two of them, Ori. Well done.”

Gloin and his family gave Bilbo a warm winter coat, gloves and scarf while Balin’s gift was a History of Erebor-a thick leather-bound tome that was actually a First Edition. Glancing up, Bilbo saw the white-haired older Fundinson brother wink cheerfully. Balin knew of Bilbo’s love of history and of the library back home that Bilbo spoke of with affection: he guessed that had been taken from him along with his home. Dis and the boys gave him warm blankets and a Christmas jumper with an elf on the front which had him smiling self-consciously. Dwalin and Nori gave a joint gift: a heavy box. Bilbo frowned and carefully lifted the lid. And then he gasped.

Within the box were items that he had thought lost forever: the little portraits of his parents that had hung over the fire, the crystal bowl that he had left his keys in, the photograph album that contained all the family-including the precious pictures of Primula and Drogo, Frodo’s parents-and his mother’s beautiful Westfarthing pottery. His mother’s diary and two first Editions of Elvish Poetry were nestled in one corner. There were a few other smaller items-mathoms that he recalled from his childhood-and each one had him freezing with memory. Finally, he looked up.

“How did you get these?” he whispered. Frodo crawled over and gasped as well, staring. Dwalin sat forward.

“Nori did much of the work but he called me when he found out that you had vanished and your home was taken by your cousin,” he explained. “He isolated your cousin from that wretched shrew of a wife and found that the husband wasn’t quite as venal as we suspected. He kept these items rather than allowing them the be throw into the trash. He couldn’t save everything and it was too late to save what was gone. We bought this and held it, hoping we would find you one day.”

Bilbo blinked, his eyes shining and he hugged Frodo.

“You don’t know what this means to me,” he said shakily. But Thorin leaned forward.

“I do,” he murmured. “And so do my kin. They know the loss of home, of family, of your place to belong. When it became clear that you had been badly wronged, Nori and Dwalin did what they could to reclaim what small pieces they could of your past. But Balin and I have assigned the company lawyers to investigate.”

“Lawyers?”

“Legolas Oropher and Tauriel Silvani,” Thorin continued. Frowning, Bilbo focussed on him.

“ _Oropher?_ As in…?”

“Yes, he’s Thranduil’s son,” Thorin admitted. “Even more surprisingly, he’s not an asshole. He thinks his father is one, though.” A smug smile crossed his face. “He’s a brilliant lawyer and Tauriel, his partner, is as good and never gives up. They are taking action on my behest.” Bilbo flinched.

“I was declared dead,” he mumbled.

“Though you are clearly alive,” Thorin noted. “There has been a miscarriage of justice and part of my gift to you is to ensure that it is overturned.” He took a deep breath and handed over a parcel. “This is the rest.” Unsure, Bilbo opened the package and found himself looking at a new, top-of-the range laptop, loaded with every programme he could possibly need.

“Thorin, I…”

“Dwalin and Nori gave you back the past,” the CEO said calmly. “My lawyers will rectify the legal wrongs you have suffered at the hands of your family and people. The monies you are owed will secure your future. And this…” He took a deep breath. “This is your future as well. Frodo told me you have your writings saved on flash drives but you have nothing to work with them on…occasionally a computer at the Library but nothing else. Now, you can work on your writing whenever you feel inspiration without pressure to work and worry where the next meal is coming from. You can search online for what you need and access whatever sources you require.” He nodded to the boy and Frodo handed over his own, rather shakily wrapped parcel. Bilbo ripped it open to reveal a beautiful leather laptop bag. The boy looked worried.

“Is it okay?” he checked as Bilbo hugged him.

“It’s wonderful,” he whispered and then turned to Thorin. “It’s all wonderful.” The man opened his mouth. “And if you say this is the least you owe me, I will hit you over the head with my spice rack.”

“I like him. He’s very feisty,” Dis said loudly to Dwalin.

“Bilbo-you are our friend and there hasn’t been a single man in the Company who hasn’t been awaiting the day we found you. These gifts are given to our friend who has finally returned and are given with thought and love,” Thorin said calmly.

“Thanks to Balin’s three line whip,” Bifur added. “The moment you went to bed he had us organised.”

“At Thorin’s behest,” the older man commented cheerfully, though he saw Bilbo’s wary expression. “He knew that this may be our only chance since come Tuesday, Bilbo will be rich enough not to have anything to do with us ever again, if he chooses. So anyone who wished to show his appreciation for our friend should get their act together now.” Bofur grinned and waved his empty coffee mug.

“I hope we didn’t disappoint,” he added cheerfully. Looking at the others, every one of whom had whipped up incredibly thoughtful and meaningful gifts in less than a day, Bilbo shook his head.

“I have never had such a wonderful Christmas,” he admitted in a choked voice.

“And we haven’t even had lunch yet!” Bombur called.

“Or the drinking games,” Bofur added. “Do I get my hug now?” Bilbo nodded.

“In a moment,” he said, checking on Frodo automatically and seeing the boy already comparing notes with Fili and Kili and inching towards their games console to try out their new games. “First…” He rose to his feet and padded over to Thorin, looking into the calm blue eyes before wrapping the larger man in a warm, tight embrace. After a second, Thorin returned it, hoping against hope that his heart wasn’t reading too much into a simple gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured. “For everything.” Thorin closed his eyes and gave up. Whatever would be, would be. Because his heart had never deviated, despite his own sins and the hopelessness of it all-and maybe this was the last time he could hold Bilbo and say the words.

“For you, anything,” he said.


	9. Nine

**Nine.**

Even though he had dined with the Company on many occasions, nothing had prepared him for the traditional Christmas Feast that he experienced with them. The Banqueting Hall of the mansion contained the most enormous table, over thirty feet long and made of polished green granite from the Lonely Mountain. Forty chairs surrounded it, all upholstered in Durin Blue. The wood panelled walls were polished and gleamed and the ceiling and plasterwork was crisp white. A fire burned fiercely in the huge stone fireplace and kept the room warm as the Company feasted. And what a feast! Turkey and goose and beef and ham, all roasted to perfection and accompanied by roast and mashed potatoes, stuffing, parsnips, turnip, carrots, kale, turnip, peas and cauliflower cheese as well as various sauces, gravy and mustard.

Thorin deferred the honour of carving to Bombur, who had cooked the feast with a little help from Dis, Dori and Bilbo and Frodo found himself sitting with Fili and Kili. The three boys giggled and laughed throughout the meal while Bilbo found himself chatting with Balin, who was sitting opposite him. Bofur was perched diagonally opposite and Bifur sat at his side, discussing life in New Erebor and which parts of the city were better for homes and schools. Bombur joined in, his knowledge as a father very helpful, though his wife Thalia and children were visiting her family for Christmas Day. Gloin’s son, Gimli, seemed to be a small copy of his father-loud and brash and quick to take offence, though Oin just turned down his hearing aids and ignored the boy’s bragging of his supposed exploits during the infamous sleep-over. Bilbo didn’t imagine that Gloin's wife, the rather fearsome Della, would have permitted one tenth of what Gimli was boasting of doing and as he met the woman’s eyes, he read her amusement at her son’s wholly unfounded tales.

It was like being back home, Bilbo realised, glancing around the table. He had been to enough family meals throughout his life to recall the sensation, back to when he was a child and his grandfather Gerontius, ‘the Old Took’ and formidable Patriarch of the Took clan, had presided over meals attended by all twelve of his children and their families. In fact, Bilbo still couldn’t recall the names of every one of his Took cousins and in laws, though none of them had stepped forward to defend him when he had returned. They were generally a wild and careless lot, choosing adventurous lives and careers rather than the staid mundanity of the Baggins Family. But respectable and rich, the Baggins’ had persuaded the authorities of Bilbo’s sins and taken everything from him-instigated by the virulent Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, the wife of his closest remaining cousin Otho. Unconsciously, his fists tightened and he glared at his plate.

“You seem out of sorts, Master Baggins,” Dis murmured in his ear, crouching by his seat. He blinked and looked up, seeing the Frodo had escaped with Fili and Kili. With a sigh, he guessed they were off to play some adventure game involving orcs and trolls, so he gestured to the seat.

“A memory,” he murmured, shaking off the anger as best he could. It would not do for Lobelia to ruin his Christmas here among people who actually wanted and cared for him, as opposed to the last four which had been poor and rather desolate affairs with a sad and lonely boy and nowhere near the minimum of warmth, food and presents that Frodo had deserved.

“And not a good one, I guess,” she said. He frowned. “I am not prying, Master Baggins-but I have seen that expression on my brother’s face sometimes. I doubt I will ever know or understand what he did to ensure we survived but sometimes it haunts him.”

“Bilbo, please,” he said with a wan smile. “We are friends, I think, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your generous welcome. But I know that sometimes those dark memories are difficult and come unbidden.”

“And won’t leave,” Dis guessed. She glanced over at Thorin, who was laughing at some joke with Dwalin. The two men had been friends since they were small boys and Dwalin was a close as a brother, though he could never replace Frerin, Thorin’s murdered younger brother. “May I ask one thing?” Sighing, Bilbo took a sip of his red wine, wondering when he could get a cup of tea. He hadn’t really drunk much alcohol at all over the last five years and his liver was starting to protest at the abuse. Then he nodded.

“I may not be able to answer fully,” he admitted. “There are some things that I’m not keen to share.” She nodded.

“I understand,” she said. “Despite what my brother and the others will have said, I have lived through the loss of my home and security, the deaths of my grandfather, father, brother and husband and the births of two boys, both of whom felt like a double-decker bus coming out!” Bilbo grimaced. “I saw what my brother gave up and sacrificed for us, what he did without and what he risked. When we visited him on intensive care, they gave him a twenty-five percent chance of survival. Twenty-five percent! And I thought, I feared my brother would die as well, leaving me alone and the last of my line. I know Oin and Gandalf were doing all they could-they even brought in Professor Peredhel from Rivendell University Hospital in Eriador to try to save him. But the only word he said was _your_ name. _Bilbo_. He seemed in terrible distress, whispering unintelligible words and crying.” Bilbo started. “All the time, he clutched an item in his hand, something small and insignificant and mundane.” She opened her hand and showed him a tiny acorn, wizened and dry now but recognisable as the one he had given Thorin that last evening. “He would not let it go. I think he thought it was the last thing of yours he had.” Her blue eyes bored into his and he felt himself transfixed, like a rabbit in the headlights. “So tell me, Bilbo-what happened between you and my brother that broke his heart and had him wanting to move mountains to repay his debts?”

He shivered and looked at her in shock. He wanted to have his conversation with Thorin first, wanted to establish exactly what he felt and what he was willing to say to the other man. He wasn’t completely blind-though he would own that he had been magnificently oblivious for most of the Quest-and he could read the brief flashes of hope in Thorin’s eyes-usually just as swiftly dismissed. That whole adventure had been a rollercoaster, varying between irritation, annoyance, fear, despair, anger, friendship, concern and flat out panic. Oh and rather more hanging off drops, escaping from armed enemies and avoiding imminent death than he preferred to recall.

But amid it all were his connections to the Company and every man there he considered a close friend. And above all, there was Thorin. Of course, being Thorin, they hadn’t started off on the right foot, for Thorin had doubted his skills and insulted his appearance, preferring to remain close to his friends and those he trusted. As he had got to know Thorin, he had realised how hard the man worked to keep his family’s heads above water and how much he had lost, while Thorin had finally come to trust Bilbo as he did his own kin. Saving Thorin from certain death at the hands of Azog’s men had certainly helped to sweep away a lot of the preconceptions and the two had forged a close bond. And talking for so long during watches and sleepless nights had given Bilbo a detailed understanding of the man. Finally he had been forced to admit there was something about Thorin Oakenshield Durin that he found impossible to resist-the mix of charisma, pride, nobility and vulnerability, wrapped in a temper that was unpredictable and a self-sacrificing instinct that had Thorin willing to do the most insane things to protect all his Company.

Somewhere along the way, Bilbo had fallen in love.

Of course, he hadn’t recognised it because he had spent his entire life believing that no one was out there for him-and finding the person he was finally interested in on what was proving to be a suicidal adventure was the height of bad timing. Thorin had been attentive and kind and he spent so much time imagining that he was misreading the signals…until Thorin started to change. And amid his paranoia and tyrannical behaviour, he had never once said a word against Bilbo, protecting Bilbo as if he were his consort. And he still recalled the final night, the incident with the acorn…

_…”I have something for you.” The words were hesitant, Bilbo’s eyes never leaving Thorin as he paced, scanning the doors and straining to listen for eavesdroppers._

_“Can you hear anything?” Thorin asked, his eyes darting back and forth._

_“Thorin.” The word was quiet but with just enough gravitas to call the leader’s wandering attention and without a word, Thorin was at his side, still tense as he was seated but his eyes locked on Bilbo’s._

_“Ghivashel?” The word was gentle, tender-old Ereborean that Bilbo assumed was some sort of term of endearment but had never dared to google. He pulled the acorn out of his pocket and placed it in Thorin’s large hand. He stared at it. “What is this?”_

_“The future,” Bilbo told him. “It’s an acorn.”_

_“I can see that.” The tone was fond but exasperated and Bilbo feared Thorin’s attention would start wandering once more._

_“You are Oakenshield, are you not?” he said suddenly. Thorin nodded._

_“A name I earned in the Civil Defence ranks, using the oak trees to shield us from a terrorist attack by the Ered Mithrin separatists,” he murmured, his eyes unfocussing. “It seemed a good name to use when Durin was no longer an option.”_

_“I picked this up when we stopped with Beorn’s for supplies and medical treatment,” Bilbo said gently. “One day, it will grow into a fine tree-probably long after I am dead and gone. But to plant something, to start a life that may last close to a thousand years would be a legacy. And maybe my children or grandchildren will sit in the shade under the branches and think of their old Uncle…” And then he sagged._

_“Why so sad, Amralime?” Thorin asked softly, his finger gently lifting Bilbo’s chin._

_“Who am I fooling?” he murmured. “I am never going to have children or grandchildren. There is no wife waiting for me and never will be.” Then he looked up and sighed. He pressed the acorn into Thorin’s hand. “But you have nephews and maybe sons one day. When we succeed…”_

_“If.”_

_“When,” Bilbo insisted. He closed Thorin’s fingers round the acorn. “When you succeed and reclaim the manor and your inheritance, plant the tree in your garden and watch it grow. Every year it achieves is one more victory over Smaug and his henchmen. And Fili and Kili will be able to watch it grow and maybe climb it one day…”_

_“Bilbo, I…”_

_“Please, Thorin,” Bilbo said softly. “Maybe you will look on the tree and recall this day and us…” Nodding, his eyes dark with emotion, Thorin leaned forward, his breath caressing Bilbo’s face…_

_…and then his head snapped up at the echo of a shout. His face fell into a mask of hatred and the acorn was tucked into his pocket, forgotten._

_“Azog,” he breathed…_

“I saved his life by calling on the help he was unable or unwilling to contact,” Bilbo said awkwardly. “And in his paranoid state, he thought I was a traitor and cast me out. He voided my contract, refused to pay me and sent me away without a ‘by your leave’. Not one of the Company spoke up for me. And it all hit the fan just as I was getting away. I wanted to stay but Gandalf pulled me back and when it was all done, I headed home for the Shire, empty-handed and without a single friend to say goodbye.”

“And your intervention provided the forces that won the day and saved my brother’s life. You didn’t know how sick he was.” Dis’s voice was almost a shock after his reverie. He nodded.

“I had my own concerns after I finally got home. Everything I had was taken from me and I had a choice to fight or take Frodo and spare him a miserable life in care. He was the only child of my two favourite cousins who wanted me to look after him. I wasn’t there when they died: how could I not be there for their son? There was no choice.”

“Not then, no. But now, things are different,” Dis murmured.

“Are they?” Bilbo asked her. “You have been so kind and generous but ultimately, my bank account is empty, I have a handful of dollars in my pocket and I am homeless with my nephew. Until I have some security, I cannot make any plans beyond what I will do when Christmas is over.”

Dis blinked and straightened up.

“You have a home here as long as you want-even until the world is remade,” she told him stiffly. “My sons would have it no other way and nor would I. And Thorin…well, the acorn remains beside his bed to this day. I stole it because I wanted to speak with you but it is his.”

“He should have planted it,” Bilbo said softly. “Because now it is too late. Now it will never grow.” Dis patted his shoulder as she rose and headed to the door.

“It is never too late,” she said. “And some things are strong enough to survive the passage of years and grow when it is their season. Do not be so quick to despair, Bilbo. There is always hope.”

But as she walked from the room amid the raucous yells and cheers of the Company, his gaze inexorably fell onto Thorin. As if feeling the pressure of his gaze, he looked up and smiled, nodding to the smaller man before Dwalin clouted him on the shoulder to finish his point.

“Sometimes, the season has passed,” he murmured. “And all you have left are the echoes of dreams.”

**_A/N: Khuzdul-_ **

Ghivashel: treasure of all treasures

Amralime: my love


	10. Ten

**Ten**

December 26th was a public holiday in New Erebor because Christmas Day had fallen at the weekend-in the Shire it would have been a holiday anyway because the Shirelings followed the tradition of a ‘Boxing Day’ holiday. Unsettled by his conversation with Dis, Bilbo had slept poorly and woken early-so he had set up his computer, accessed the WiFi key that the boys had shown him the previous day for his phone and set to searching the internet.

It was a joy to have a responsive machine and he had carefully uploaded all his writings to the hard drive just for convenience before looking back five years and reading the newspaper reports about their Quest. Snorting at some of the inaccuracies, he had read the articles-those by Bard were much better than those produced by other hacks, though they still contained some inaccuracies. But the account of the battle of Ravenhill was comprehensive because, it seemed, Bard had been there. And he had seen the last confrontation between Thorin and Azog, seen the brutality of their fight with no quarter asked-and witnessed the last Heir to the Durin line kill the man who had slaughtered his father, grandfather and brother in self-defence.

Bilbo looked up. He certainly hadn’t told Bard that tidbit but he assumed much had come out after the dust settled. Bolg had fallen to Dwalin and the rest of the Company, though injured survived. He was unsurprised to read that Thranduil had arrested Thorin as soon as the last attacker had fallen…and that Thorin had finally collapsed. The gravity of his wounds hadn’t been immediately obvious but later articles spoke of his life and death struggle as the arraignments of Smaug and his lieutenants continued. There were profiles of every member of the Company and discussion of their roles…but as he read, there was not one single word of his involvement at all. It was as if he hadn’t existed and everything that he had done for the Quest was conveniently forgotten.

He rose and walked across his bedroom then back again, running his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t feel so angry about it but the fact he had lost everything in the Quest that had gained Thorin and his family and friends riches beyond imagining was just unendurable.

“How did you manage, just the eleven of you?” he read bitterly. “Short answer-you didn’t. You had a Baggins to haul your idiotic asses out of the fire more times than I can count. But do I get a word of acknowledgement? _Noooo_. It has to always be Thorin bloody Oakenshield and his damned Company doing everything. All forgetting that if I hadn’t gone out, you would all be dead on that hill and no one would ever know what happened to you!” His voice had risen as he paced back and forth and he forced himself to grit his teeth and pace back and forth until his temper calmed. Then he sat abruptly down. “Okay-show me how sick you bloody well were,” he sneered and navigated his way to the patient systems of the Royal Khuzd Infirmary. Even though he hadn’t really used his skills for some years, the protections were pretty basic and it didn’t take him long to hack into Thorin’s patient records.

Slowly, he read down, skating over technical terms, though the narrative summary each day was very helpful to a non-medic. The language was brutal and bleak: Thorin was on the brink of death, his terrible wounds from the battle compounded by the poison running through his veins. The poison was a rare one- _ArtSjuk_ -that was distilled from rare fungi that only lived in some of the deepest places in the world and had been found only in Gundabad in the last four centuries. Despite everything the hospital could do, Thorin’s body was breaking down, his liver and kidneys failing and his mind almost lost to the poison. There was only one authority who could possibly offer assistance.

“Professor Peredhel,” Bilbo murmured and called up the man’s biography on Wikipedia and on three different University websites. The preternaturally calm face of Elrond Peredhel looked back at him, the high forehead framed by dark brown hair, the serene expression somehow familiar. Bilbo read his qualifications and his expertise in unusual poisoning cases. Somehow, he had managed to formulate and enact a treatment plan that had saved Thorin’s life very much against the odds-though Bilbo suspected some of Thorin’s innate stubbornness was also responsible. And when Thorin had finally woken, his mind was back and he had managed to make the trial of Smaug-just when his testimony was required. He had been a star witness and had managed to endure long enough to see Smaug sentenced to four hundred years in prison without the prospect of parole before relapsing. Quietly, he skimmed through the last few articles, covering the recovery and Thorin’s rise as the CEO of Erebor Commodities. So he had no problem snapping the laptop closed as Frodo slipped into his room to see how he was. He looked up with a smile.

“Morning, Frodo,” he said cheerily. “You ready for breakfast?” The boy started.

“You’re very awake,” he said suspiciously and then he approached cautiously. “You didn’t sleep properly, did you?” Shoulders slumping, Bilbo carefully placed his laptop in the magnificent bag Frodo had bought him (with Thorin’s help) and lifted the boy onto his lap.

“It happens,” he reminded his nephew. “Sometimes I hear things or people discuss things that bring back bad memories.” He caught the boy’s expression. “No one does it on purpose-they all want to share memories of our times together because we were friends on the journey…”

“Though none of them have helped you at all for years…” Frodo grumbled. Bilbo ruffled his hair gently.

“I think there were some misunderstandings all round,” he admitted. “And I need to have a word with Thorin.” The boy sighed.

“Will we have to leave?” he asked in a small voice. Clutching him tight, Bilbo hated himself as he felt the boy’s face burrow into his neck.

“We can’t stay here for ever and I’m sure Dis will want her home back,” he murmured.

“She seems happy to have us and Fili and Kili want me to stay,” he sniffed. “Why do we always have to leave when I start making friends. Why do I have to leave now I’ve found somewhere I want to stay for ever?” A shuddering breath ran through Bilbo.

“For ever is a very long time,” he forced himself to say.

“Then why can’t we stay a bit longer until we know if they want us to go?” Frodo begged him softly.

“We might be able to have our own home,” Bilbo suggested, stroking his head. “A nice home with a garden and plenty of light and no horrible landlords…”

“I don’t want a new home,” Frodo whispered. “I just want to stay here.” Bilbo nuzzled his hair and sighed.

“So do I,’ he breathed. “But I’m not sure that would work.”

-o0o-

There was a definite ‘after the Lord Mayor’s Show’ feel to breakfast when Frodo and Bilbo entered the kitchen. For one thing, Balin and Dwalin were already there, seated at the far end of the table munching away in companionable silence. Dwalin was still wearing his sunglasses (Bilbo had noted him hitting the whiskey heavily with Thorin the previous evening after they had been knocked out of the scrabble tournament) but was surprisingly awake and functioning as he hadn’t been the previous two days. Balin looked up and winked, before cracking open his third boiled egg while Dwalin grabbed another piece of well-done wholemeal toast and jabbed it into his quartet of fried eggs.

“Good morning!” Bilbo said as Balin decapitated the egg.

“Aye-that it is,” he commented gently. “You look…tired, laddie. Trouble sleeping?” Moving to the kettle and finding it recently boiled, Bilbo swiftly made a fresh pot of tea.

“Sometimes I recall our wonderful journey together and…” He shrugged. Balin gave him a sympathetic look and pushed the plate of toast towards Frodo.

“It was eventful,” he agreed, starting on his egg. Bilbo passed the butter and honey to his nephew while he decided what to cook. Investigating the fridge, he swiftly located eggs and milk and managed to find the flour and sugar before nodding smiling. He whipped up pancake mix and threw a few rashers of the remaining bacon into the frying pan, before making pancakes, maple syrup and bacon for Frodo and himself. Dwalin was observing him closely, his stillness very striking.

“Why do you make such efforts for such an unimportant reason?” he asked gruffly. Bilbo placed the warm plate in front of his nephew and sat down beside him, helping him cut his bacon into manageable chunks.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Bilbo reminded him primly. “And Frodo is a growing boy who hasn’t had enough food and treats in his life. This is the last day of the holidays before the banks open and then…” He paused. “Then, I am not sure what will happen. Except that things will be different. So I make Frodo a good breakfast while I can…”

“Thorin won’t cheat you.”

“Again,” Bilbo cut in. “Yes, I know. I know he’s genuine. I know he is filled with remorse. And I know we have to talk. But is it wrong to want to imagine none of that happened for a couple of days and just enjoy friends and family? Recent experience has taught me that nothing good ever seems to last so maybe I’m being selfish but for once, I wanted to enjoy what happiness Frodo and I could find here before something went wrong.” His shoulders sagged but he carved a slice off his pancakes and ate it decisively.

“Some day, your luck will change, laddie,” Balin assured him, finishing his third egg. His attentions turned to the fourth. “And it’s long overdue.” Bilbo swallowed and took a slurp of his tea, glancing over and seeing Frodo eating with serious concentration.

“And yet life doesn’t seem to care what is ‘due’ and what is ‘fair’,” he snarked and then sagged. “Sorry, but I’m still waiting for something to go south and ruin it for us.”

“Or maybe meeting us all again is the break you were owed,” Dwalin commented, mopping up the last of his yolks with another slice of buttered toast. “You saved every one of us and not a single man among would not go out and bat for you. No matter what life throws at you, you aren’t alone any more.”

“You have eleven stubborn Ereboreans plus Dis and the boys in your corner,” Balin translated. “Mahal have mercy on you.” Unwillingly, Bilbo found himself smiling.

“I can see how that would be a bonus,” he commented, looking up to see Frodo carefully stacking his pancakes four-square. Then the boy’s face lit up as Fili and Kili raced in, followed by a weary looking Dis and a wrecked-looking Thorin. “Especially the boys.”

“Pancakes!” Kili yelled, causing all the adults to wince. “Can we have pancakes, Amad?” For once, Dis looked pained.

“I can whip up another batch,” Bilbo offered, rising. She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the kettle.

“You are our guest, Bilbo,” she said, sloshing hot water over three spoons of coffee and sipped it before making an identical cup for Thorin.

“And I know that boys love pancakes,” he admitted, scooping up the mixing bowl and swiftly assembling another portion of batter.

“And older boys,” Dis murmured, her eyes clearing as the caffeine hit home. She glanced around. “You two heading home?” Balin nodded.

“We respect you need a little time without a house full and Dwalin needs to get his head back on before he returns to work tomorrow,” he explained. “Della had Gloin and Gimli up and out at the crack of dawn-I think she wants them to visit her parents today and Oin caught a lift with them. Gloin says he’ll meet us at ten at Erebor Bank tomorrow, as agreed, Thorin.” The CEO finally looked up, his clear blue eyes unfocussed until he blinked.

“Good,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep.

“Still not a morning person,” Dis chuckled as Bilbo continued his speedy pancake production line, expertly frying bacon and dishing out plates as he continued. She washed a punnet of blueberries and placed them on the table as Bilbo finished, serving the Durin family expertly. The boys and Thorin chose maple syrup and bacon while Dis stuck to blueberries and syrup on her pancakes as Bilbo sat down and finished his own breakfast. Kili looked up and gave thumbs up.

“If Master Bilbo doesn’t have another job, can he stay here and make pancakes for us every morning?” he asked, his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Dis told him, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure that Bilbo has much better things to do with his time than cook for greedy boys.”

“Am not,” Kili mumbled. “Fili eats twice what I do.” The older brother grinned, attacking his pile of pancakes with gusto. Balin rose, stacking his plates in the sink and throwing his empty eggshells in the trash while his brother looked over to his closest friend.

“Thorin, I need a word with yer-in private,” Dwalin said firmly. Shoulders slumping, Thorin took a quick bite of his pancakes then rose, offering an apologetic smile to his sister-who leered at him-and the boys who wholly ignored him, still bickering over who ate more. Dwalin escorted him into the hall and a little way from the door as Balin headed back up to his room. Running his hands through his hair, Thorin nodded.

“What’s the problem?” he asked tiredly as the big security chief inspected his friend. Thorin didn’t look like he had slept and he looked dishevelled and down.

“You,” Dwalin said without preamble. “You have to speak to Bilbo.”

“I know.”

“No-really speak to him,” Dwalin insisted. Thorin’s eyes snapped with sudden irritation.

“What can I say?” he hissed. “Sorry I messed up your entire life because I banished and cheated you out of a fortune while I was under the influence of a poison I didn’t seek help for. Or that I didn’t go after you the instant I regained consciousness after nearly dying because I was stuck in the middle of the court battle that I had been building towards for twenty years. Nice to see you by the way…”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Dwalin’s tone was exasperated.

“Then what?”

“I heard him forgive you,” Dwalin said slightly more gently.

“It’s undeserved.” Thorin’s tone was stubborn.

“Of course. You did screw him over and no right thinking person would forgive you. I’d have sued your ass and thrown your reputation down the crapper while beating the shit out of you…but that’s me,” Dwalin growled. “I’m not Bilbo. And the one thing that we all recall about him is that he’s probably the best person you’ll meet. Brave, kind, generous, decent and selfless. Yes, he’s sarcastic, snarky, quick-witted and very funny. But he’s also forgiving. He meant it-even though, knowing you, you’d rather be walking around in a hair shirt self-flagellating so you actually felt like you were serving some sort of penance.”

“It’s not enough,” Thorin murmured, turning away.

“Rescuing him from homelessness. Giving him a fortune and a future. Offering your friendship and that of your family and the Company once more? You’ve done enough.”

“Hardly,” Thorin sighed and Dwalin shook his head, grasping his cousin’s shoulder.

“Tell him,” he said.

“I cannot,” Thorin groaned. “I lost every expectation, every right to hope for anything except…a cordial friendship…when I tried to kill him.”

“Except that you still want more.” Thorin turned to face him and his face was twisted in a grim smile.

“And maybe that’s my penance,” he sighed. “Knowing what was there-though recognising it too late-and throwing it irrevocably away.” Dwalin folded his arms and glared through his sunglasses.

“Aye-you two were the most oblivious pair,” he commented. “Even Gloin saw what was going on and he’s got the emotional intelligence of a rock. Admittedly you treated the burglar like crap when the Quest started but once you stopped acting like a cockwomble, you started to realise that he was an absolute asset to the mission and perhaps the first person who got you since we met in kindergarten all those decades ago…” Thorin cocked an eyebrow and his lips quirked in asmall smile.

“Cockwomble? Do I even need to ask…?”

“Your older nephew is a very smart lad,” Dwalin confirmed. “He’ll be running the company by the time he’s twenty.”

“Mahal, I hope not,” Thorin sighed. “Because that means that Dis and I have left him and he would have to struggle as I did. I’m confident between us, we have at least two more decades in us, allowing Fili and Kili the chance to be children, to explore and learn and travel and do all those things they want to, without being chained to a legacy and a wrong that commands them to spend their lives supporting others and fighting to regain what was taken. I had no choice-not when everyone else and everything we had was gone. I had to support Dis and later, the boys. I never had an option-but they do. And even if they decide that they don’t want to run the business, Dis and I will find managers and executives to run it so they can pursue their own lives but still benefit from the wealth of our family.”

Silence fell between them. Then Dwalin grasped his shoulders and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Thorin’s. The gesture was brief but caused the CEO to stiffen.

“Then it’s time you allowed yourself some choice as well,” Dwalin murmured. “Bilbo is your friend. He has forgiven you. Your heart…well, under that temper and those scowls and glares, you have a heart that yearns for the same as everyone else’s. That _deserves_ the same as everyone else. And he is here, now. Use the courage that took you on an impossible and hopeless mission to tackle one last unattainable goal. Speak to Bilbo and offer him your feelings.” Thorin gave a slight huff. “And what’s the worst he can do? He won’t cut you out of his life because Frodo likes the boys.”

“It will signal the end to all hopes,” Thorin murmured gruffly. “Better to cling to a dream than wake and see it vanish for ever.” Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.

“Never took you for a coward, Thorin,” he said as a parting shot. “My old Mam always told me, _if you don’t ask, you don’t get_. This is the last day before we go to the bank. The last day of normality before everything changes. You’ve lost too much in your life to be giving up on the things you want above all without even trying.”

-o-

**_A/N:_ **

**_Amad: Mother (Khuzdul)_ **

**_Art Sjuk = Gold Sick (orcish) -courtesy of_ ** [ **_angelfire.com_ ** ](http://angelfire.com)


	11. Eleven

**Eleven.**

Bilbo made sure he was around when the Ur family came down for breakfast and took their leave. Bifur was as taciturn as ever, his dry sense of humour allowing him to tease Bilbo as he had done on the Quest, begging a dinner invitation when the former burglar had his living arrangements more solidified because he recalled Bilbo’s tales of apple-crusted pork loin with special crackling. Bombur had hugged Bilbo and Frodo and issued them a standing invitation for dinner any day. Or lunch. Or tea (at four every day). While Bofur had pulled Bilbo aside and leaned close.

“I didn’t mean anything when…yesterday,” he said awkwardly. He was heavily hung over but his voice was steady and his eyes clear.

“I know,” Bilbo reassured him but Bofur shook his head.

“No you don’t,” he said exasperated. “Bilbo-I care for you. And I was feeling guilty because everything you said was right. None of us stepped up and spoke for you against Thorin. None of us looked for you when Azog and his men were taken down and Smaug was in custody. We assumed you would be alright…but how could you be? You had suffered through the same things that we had, things that would damage even the most resilient of men and which we were all struggling with. I should have done more. I…” He paused. “And who was the one who sent people to check on you? Thorin!”

“Bofur-I don’t think any less of you for it,” Bilbo assured him. “You were the first person I met back in New Erebor, remember? You offered me a place to stay without hesitation. You were my first friend in the Company and you are my friend now.” He gave a small smile. “I know you care…”

“…and I know that it isn’t mutual,” Bofur. “Not in that way.” Then he gave a melancholy smile. “But you are my friend and if you haven’t come round by the end of the week, I’ll be having words with you, Bilbo Baggins!”Cracking a broad smile, Bilbo clapped him on the shoulder.

“A Baggins never reneges on an invitation,” he replied primly. “The absolute height of bad manners!” Bofur had already given him his phone number and address so there was no question that they would be able to keep in contact. “Besides, you promised to show me those pictures of you and Bombur as kids when we were on the Quest and I am still waiting to see what little Bofur looked like!” The miner chuckled.

“He wasn’t anyway as cute as adult Bofur,” he noted with a bawdy wink. “That’s statistically impossible!”

As he had waved them off, Bilbo had noted Bofur didn’t look back, though he saw the others do so-including Bifur who had insisted on driving. And then he had gone back inside, feeling at a loss over what to do for the rest of the day. The truth was that he had no work, no chores and Frodo was playing some game involving yelling and thudding along the upstairs corridor. And then he paused and stared at the door.

The final wreath, the one that Bifur had saved from the Esgaroth Estate, was fixed to the door, displayed proudly against the Durin-Blue painted wood. How had he not noticed? But then he realised: his attentions had been on Frodo when they had come and gone and it had been dark when they had gotten back from shopping and the service. It had been there all that time, the wreath that had started the whole thing off, that had brought him back into contact with Thorin and the rest.

Sometimes, maybe, the Gods did have a plan.

As he walked back in, frowning, he found himself facing Thorin, dressed warmly in walking boots, thick jeans and a dark blue check flannel shirt. The CEO was looking a little self-conscious as he bowed his head to the shorter man.

“I was wondering if you perhaps would like a walk. In the grounds. We could take the boys. If you wish…” he said, looking uncomfortable and Bilbo narrowed his eyes, though he wasn’t annoyed.

“The same grounds you got lost in?” he checked. Thorin cleared his throat.

“My sense of direction isn’t quite that hopeless, though I am less familiar with the further reaches of the grounds,” he confessed. “But it’s a fine day, though cold and I feel a walk may be pleasant…” Bilbo nodded.

“We have been stuck inside for most of the last couple days so a bit of fresh air would be nice,” Bilbo admitted. “I saw the wreath…” Thorin cleared his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, curiously embarrassed. “But I saw it and thought…wondered what have happened if you hadn’t come by, selling wreaths?”

“It would’ve been a very different Christmas and not nearly so merry,” Bilbo mused, inspecting the taller man. “I was just surprised. Your sister dismissed me out of hand and no one else on this side of town would even look at them.” Thorin sighed.

“I apologise,” he said awkwardly. “But I kept it because you made it. Because it was something of your traditions in our celebrations.” Bilbo gave a lopsided smile.

“It’s on the outside of the door,” he pointed out.

“But I know it’s there,” Thorin told him and then raised his hands appeasingly. “I don’t mean to insult you, Bilbo. I just thought…”

“It’s a kind gesture,” Bilbo said, having pity on him. “Thank you. Now you mentioned a walk…”

It took some time to round up the boys and wrangle them into outside gear but finally, they had three securely wrapped up boys, with Frodo proudly wearing his new warm clothes. Bilbo was also wearing his new coat and scarf as they headed out of the back and down, across the lawn and through into the woods. The sky was crystal clear, warmed with the cold yellow-orange wintery sunlight and frost rimed the grass and trees, with the paths crunching underfoot. Bilbo found himself smiling at seeing Frodo race off with his new friends, pointing out plants that he recognised and vanishing into the undergrowth with them as they showed him the little pond and stream that ran through the property. Thorin was quiet, seeming content to walk along with his hands in the pockets of his coat beside the former Company burglar. The air was cold and crisp and their breath came in little clouds as they walked further into the wood.

“It’s rather beautiful out here,” Bilbo commented. “Very peaceful, in fact.” Thorin nodded.

“I recall the woods from when I was a child, when we lived in the house before…” He broke off and took a swift breath. “My grandfather was strict but we used to hide in the woods-especially if we had done something wrong. Dis, Frerin and I climbed every tree in the place, I think and we had a den…other there, in the middle of that quartet of trees.”

“Show me,” Bilbo told him, following his long strides as they crunched across dried bracken and drooping grass to see branches jammed between the trunks, many long rotted away but a few left enough to show it was still there. Bilbo gasped and Thorin gave a small, nostalgic smile at the sight.

“I ended up doing the heavy lifting as the oldest,” he admitted. “Frerin was three years younger than I and Dis three younger than him. I was responsible for my younger siblings…including making sure the den was invisible. And I made a tree house, up in Dain’s Oak-named for my great-grandfather who fell out of it and broke an arm and a leg as a boy.” Bilbo gave a small smile. 

“I’d like to see it,” he admitted but Thorin’s face fell.

“Azog’s men cut it down and burnt it during their tenure here,” he said quietly and then shook himself. “But it used to stand over there…” He pointed towards a clearing and they walked quietly through the woods, hearing the call of birds and seeing a squirrel launch across the naked branches of a chestnut. Bilbo glanced over to see Frodo bound through the bracken and race past, his cheeks a brilliant red with exertion. He grinned and stumbled then sped on.

“I win!” he yelled.

“Not fair!” Kili called. “You run too fast!” Bilbo chuckled.

“Isn’t that the point in a race?” he murmured.

“Kili is used to being the fastest,” Thorin murmured back, watching his nephews trot up, panting. “You want to show Frodo the Tree?” They nodded, grabbed the younger boy’s hands and sped off ahead.

“The tree?” Bilbo asked but Thorin lengthened his stride and led Bilbo out into a clearing. To one side was the severed trunk of a large oak, the wood softened by rains and fungus, moss growing up the remaining bark. But in the centre of the clearing was a young tree, maybe five feet high and straight and strong. There was a stake carefully hammered in by it and a strap was carefully looped around the tree to support it. A little fence protected it from any deer that may stray into the area. The boys were pointing and murmuring in low voices with Frodo paying close attention before they set out again into the woods with a selection of war-yodels.

“That tree,” Thorin murmured quietly.

“It’s a young oak,” Bilbo realised, walking forward to stand by the fence, reaching out to almost touch the branches.

“Just under five years old,” Thorin explained, walking a little closer. “When the case was over and when we couldn’t find you, I remembered what we had discussed-though it was like a fever dream. The fact I still had an acorn in my possession meant that it had been true-and made my crimes even more egregious. But no matter what I had promised, I could not part with the acorn. So I contacted Beorn and went to see him in person. I explained the circumstances and he called me a fool-which was true. But he gave me another acorn from the tree you had taken yours from-a brother, if you will. That was what I planted here, what grew into the tree you now see.” He drew a hand from his pocket and Bilbo gazed on the wizened acorn once more. “Forgive me, Bilbo. I planted the tree to remember…but I could not give up the acorn you gave me because I did not want to forget.”

“What didn’t you want to forget?” Bilbo asked quietly, turning to look at the man. Thorin’s eyes were dark, filled with vulnerability and longing. And still the shadow of his guilt.

“You,” he admitted. “Everything about you. From your first moments, looking out of your depth and complaining that Gandalf Greyhame gave you no information at all about the job-right to the end when I wronged you so shamefully.” He paused. “And every moment in between. From the life and death situations…”

“Who could forget those?’ Bilbo murmured ironically.

“…to your incomparable sarcasm, your quick wits-which saved us more than once-and all those moments when it was quiet and we could just…talk.”

“Those are the moments I miss as well,” Bilbo admitted, standing alongside Thorin and feeling a little of the warmth radiating off the taller man. “It’s going to be a few years before anyone can climb it. I may have overestimated how fast oaks grow.”

“But not how long they live,” Thorin murmured, his voice low. “In fifty years, this will be a great tree-and yet it will have another two centuries of growth to go before it achieves its full stature. Yet in that time, my nephews’ sons and grandsons will be able to climb the tree and recall why it was planted and for who.” He looked up. “This is Bilbo’s Oak. My nephews know it as such and that is the name that will continue for the life of this tree. When the details of our lives are dust, your name will carry on in this tree-planted by me for you.”

“Bilbo! Guess what? They named this tree after you!” Frodo called, running up to his uncle and tugging on his sleeve. Never taking his eyes from Thorin’s. Bilbo nodded.

“Yes, Uncle Thorin just told me,” he said faintly. Frodo was bouncing with excitement.

“Does that mean we can stay here?” he asked hopefully as Bilbo finally blinked and drew his attention to his young charge.

“What?”

“Well, they have a tree named after you so they must like you…” Frodo began. “So maybe they will want us to stay?” Sighing, Bilbo rubbed his forehead with his mittened hand.

“Frodo…there are more things to count in such an important decision than just a tree,” he said, trying to keep his voice kindly.

“But they named a tree after you,” Frodo protested.

“And we do like you both,” Fili added, grinning.

“You are very welcome to stay with us for however long,” Thorin murmured.

“Are you sure your sister would approve?” Bilbo asked dryly.

“Bilbo-my sister is suggesting we refuse to let you leave because the boys want Frodo to stay,” he revealed. “And if I drove you away…” He grimaced. “Let’s just say I’d be looking for new accommodations!”

“Hmm. We can’t have that,” Bilbo murmured and smiled. “Shall we carry on? It’s a lovely afternoon and it reminds me of days in the Shire, walking through the woods.” The nostalgia and longing in his voice had Thorin nodding and walking alongside as Bilbo headed out along the little path snaking between the trees and further into the wood. It just solidified his determination that his plan would have to work.

-o0o-

The afternoon was waning when the doorbell rang and Thorin immediately got up from the living room where everyone was relaxing. Bilbo was reading his new book from Balin, Dis was embroidering and the boys were playing a board game raucously, all warmed by a lovely open fire before the interruption. But the speed at which Thorin took off told Bilbo that the CEO had been waiting for the arrival of whoever was at the door. But it was none of his business so he turned back to the tales of the earliest monarchs of Erebor.

Thorin opened the door and felt himself tense. Facing him was a young man, tall and lean with long white-gold hair, serene features and cold blue-grey eyes. Legolas Oropher was dressed in a silk suit, the neck of his pale sage shirt casually open and briefcase clasped in his hand. Behind him, a beautiful red-haired woman nodded professionally. As tall as Legolas and of similar build, she wore a russet designer suit with cream blouse and mid-height heels, following her colleague into the hall.

“Legolas, Tauriel-thank you for coming at such short notice,” the CEO said clearly and led them to his office, situated in the other wing to the living room. The blond man snorted and walked in, taking a seat and fishing out his laptop.

“This isn’t a holiday for our people so it is no hardship,” he commented. “And you are paying for my time.”

“Of course,” Thorin acknowledged regally, inclining his head. “Have you got anything?” Tauriel flipped open her legal pad and made a couple of notes.

“The investigation has been ongoing since you first contacted us, more than three years ago when it was clear that some serious malfeasance had occurred,” she said, her clear unaccented voice cool. “It has involved delving into the more arcane features of Shire law and liaising with local specialists but yes, we have progress.”

“Though we can only resolve this properly if we can speak to the injured party-and I gather than this is now an option?” Legolas checked. He tapped a few passwords into his computer and cleared his throat. Thorin nodded and paced back and forth.

“We had feared him dead since he had been declared dead in the Shire…until it became obvious from what Dwalin and Nori uncovered that he had not died, only been declared legally dead,” Thorin revealed slowly. “But no one could locate him and I feared that some evil had truly befallen him, despite our efforts. That he was lost and the legal declaration was just the Shire’s way of tidying things up. But in my heart, I knew he was still alive.”

“You were correct,” Legolas said abruptly and sat up straighter, tapping in a code. Then he looked up. “Bilbo Baggins was not dead but he was the victim of some evil-him and his little cousin.” Frowning because it matched the hints that Bilbo and Frodo had given him, Thorin slumped into his seat.

“Mahal,” he murmured. The lawyer gave a thin smile.

“It’s time to speak to Bilbo,” he said.


	12. Twelve

**Twelve.**

A sense of trepidation ran through Bilbo as Thorin walked into the Living Room and asked him to accompany him. And because Bilbo had decided to trust Thorin, he did. This wasn’t the man who had raged and shouted, whose hands had tightened around his neck and called him a rat and a traitor. No, this was Thorin who had talked with love and affection about his nephews, who had shared stories of his childhood and his siblings and who had known how devastated Bilbo had felt when he had discussed the deaths of his parents. So he followed the CEO along the corridor he realised he had walked before, five years earlier, in the dark and fear of avoiding Bolg and gathering the evidence from the concealed safe. But nothing prepared him for the figures waiting for him there: the elegant shapes of Legolas Oropher and Tauriel Silvani…and on the laptop screen, enclosed in the familiar outline of the ‘EntMoot’ meetings software, was the lined face of an old man with piercing blue-grey eyes, long grey beard and rather messy grey hair.

“GANDALF!” Bilbo exclaimed and took a step forward in shock.

“Bless my beard-Bilbo Baggins, it is you!” the old lawyer said cheerfully. “I must confess I was worried about what had happened to you but I had every faith that your own resourcefulness would mean you would be fine.” Bilbo folded his arms and glared.

“Oh you did, did you?” he snarked. “Would it have killed you to maybe have checked up on me? Because there was a moment when you could actually have been of some use!” Gandalf looked taken aback for a moment before he regained his equilibrium.

“We’re not here to trade barbs,” he said more sternly.

“Aren’t we? Then I’ve been short changed!” Bilbo shot back. "I was promised extensive snarking and plentiful sarcasm. And maybe some answers…” There was an awkward silence before Tauriel spoke up.

“Perhaps we could all sit down and discuss why we are here,” she suggested. “I am Tauriel Silvani, Master Baggins, and though we have not met, I am very familiar with some parts of your affairs. My colleague is Legolas Oropher and we work as counsel for Erebor Commodities and the Durin family.” Reluctantly, Bilbo took the indicated seat and nodded greetings to everyone. Thorin folded his arms across his chest and stood back, allowing the lawyers to take the lead. Legolas leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Perhaps you could start by telling me what happened when you returned to the Shire?” he invited as Tauriel picked up her pen. Bilbo stared at him.

“You really do look like your father,” he said suddenly. Finally, Legolas cracked a slight smile.

“I am told you punched him in the face for how he…imaginatively reinterpreted the agreement you made,” he commented. “I believe you broke his nose.”

“Good,” Bilbo growled as Thorin chuckled behind him. Gandalf’s eyes widened.

“Bilbo Baggins! Have you been acting without thinking?” he asked pointedly.

“No, I weighed up all the relevant factors and decided that punching Thranduil was definitely the best response to his behaviour,” Bilbo snapped back.

“I think most of us who know him can agree that my father deserved it,” Legolas commented. “In fact, my only negative is that I wasn’t there to see it.” Finally Bilbo relaxed and unfolded his arms.

“What do you want to know?” he asked more softly.

“What happened?” Gandalf asked. Closing his eyes, Bilbo let his head drop back as he forced himself to recall those days and the events that haunted his nightmares.

“When I returned to the Shire after the adventure, I found that my home was in the hands of my relatives,” he said. Then he sighed. “The Shire is a very insular and parochial. The people there are not so much set in their ways as congealed and view anyone who does anything out of the ordinary as suspicious. My mother, with her penchant for travel, was always viewed as an oddball. My father-the most dull, home loving man in history-was a bastion of respectability. I was already viewed as a little weird because I studied at Rivendell University before returning home-and when I vanished, I gave my venal relatives an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?” Thorin murmured.

“In the Shire, if you vanish from your home and you do not tell three people where you are going, you may be deemed to have abandoned your home and it can be passed on to your next of kin,” Legolas replied swiftly. Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Clearly, the man had done his research.

“When I left-Gandalf not having given me any warning you and the Company were coming over or what you wanted-I only had time to let Hamfast, my gardener, and his wife, Belle, know that I was going away for some time. He kindly volunteered to tell the postman, cancel my paper and the milk and let the council know…so my house wasn’t abandoned by any rational manner. The bills were bring paid from my account and the rents were still coming in. My neighbours knew that I was coming back but that I was travelling. Except for one arcane piece of legal jargon that my evil shrew of a cousin’s wife dug up.”

“You are referring, of course, to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” Gandalf said with distaste.

“That woman has had her eye on my home, Bag End, that my father built my mother when he married her,” Bilbo explained bitterly. “No matter that it was left to me when they died, that they wanted their son to live securely there amid their memories. No matter that my father worked all his life to build up a property portfolio so that I could have the options to pursue what I wanted in life. No matter that the garden was made by my mother. No matter that she was a damned Bracegirdle and had no right to put her sticky paws on it! She wanted it because it was better than hers, better than that lazy lump Otho could afford and she was-is-a greedy, cruel bitch….” Bilbo’s voice had risen and he was almost shaking with rage, his fists clenched in anger. In a gesture that surprised himself, Thorin gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You are not responsible for the crimes of others,” Bilbo said, the anger leaving his voice slowly. “And no matter what you may imagine, I doubt an escort from Erebor would have altered things one jot.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” he mumbled.

“Apparently Lobelia was so switched on to this ancient and arcane law because it was one of her ancestors, a Bracegirdle, who was the reason it was written.” He looked up and met Tauriel’s eyes. “His neighbour vanished but the ancestor claimed that he had told him that he was going travelling. After several months, the man’s relatives grew suspicious and insisted that an investigation was carried out. The neighbour was found murdered and buried in the garden while the ancestor enjoyed his wealth and his home. He was handed over to the Sherriffs for punishment while the law was written to ensure that anyone going away should tell three adults that he was going.” He gave a bitter smile. “The number three was chosen to prevent a married couple from murdering a vulnerable person.”

“You took precautions that any reasonable person would take,” Thorin murmured.

“Except in the Shire,” Legolas said seriously.

“Lobelia waited three months and then insisted that I must have abandoned my home or that some foul play had befallen me,” Bilbo continued. “She insisted they dig up Mum’s garden to ‘look for a body’ and tore the place apart. When there was no sign of me, she went to the courts to have me declared as having abandoned my home and then awarded to her. And that was when I arrived home, cheated and angry and horrified that I had been robbed by my own cousin.”

“That must have been a shock,” Gandalf murmured.

“But worse, when I arrived back in the Shire, I found that my favourite cousins, Drogo Baggins and his wife, Primula Brandybuck, had been killed in a boating accident, leaving their little son Frodo an orphan.” His voice faltered. “I was his godfather and no one had been able to contact me. I found that he was lodged with some of his Brandybuck relatives.”

“Was that not a good thing?” Legolas asked.

“My people generally have large families, though not necessarily the resources to look after them as well as they should,” Bilbo sighed, seeing Legolas’s eyes widen in shock. An only child, he could not imagine a large family. “Frodo was lodging with Asphodel Brandybuck-Burrows and her seven children in a house large enough for three children. No one else wanted him. But no one wanted me to take him, even though it was explicitly stated in Drogo and Primula’s wills that they wanted me to take Frodo if I was willing, because they knew that I would love him as much as they did.”

“And I suppose your ‘reputation’ was a barrier,” Thorin murmured.

“That and the fact I was possibly dead and penniless,” Bilbo said. “I went to see Frodo. He was in a terrible state, abandoned among cousins and subjected to the rough and tumble of a busy household amid strangers without anyone giving him any time or space to grieve. So he began to withdraw into himself. And then he saw me and he just burst into tears and clung to me. I was the only one who had even bothered to hug him and tell him it was okay and he begged me not to leave him there. Asphodel was mortified and wanted him gone. But Lobelia opposed me through the courts and wanted him not to be allowed to stay with me.”

“Did they want him?” Tauriel asked softly. Bilbo shook his head.

“Not at all,” he revealed with a sigh. “They just didn’t want me to have him. They didn’t care what happened to him, how upset he was or what he wanted. They just wanted me gone-and feared that if I was given Frodo, then I would have standing to try to reclaim my own goods and inheritance to support him. So they got together, planned and then the family ambushed me.”

“How?” Gandalf asked.

“They offered a deal,” Bilbo spat bitterly. “They offered to legally allow me to adopt Frodo and become his guardian through the courts-if I renounced all rights to Bag End and my properties. I argued that if I had my property back, they would have no bar to me getting back as well-but they pointed out that I had vanished for the best part of a year and that there was no evidence what I had been up to. And that was when I found that the entire Company had written me out of the story. Not one single mention, my name never said, nothing to prove that I had risked my life over and over to save them. And without any corroboration, I was sunk. Thranduil refused to talk to me, Bard was busy and the Company…” He looked up at Thorin. “Why?”

Thorin covered his face with his hands and ran his fingers through his hair wearily.

“At first, the Company didn’t want to say anything because they were not sure whether mentioning you would prejudice the case Thranduil seemed to be making against Smaug,” Thorin admitted slowly. “I believe they also didn’t want to give him any extra ammunition against me.” He looked embarrassed. “And I understand that they were not sure that all of Smaug’s people had been rounded up so if they revealed your part, there was a concern that they could hunt you down and harm you. So they kept your part confidential.” He looked guilty. “We had to explain it all in court-Thranduil and Bard were privy to that, though, of course, they already knew most. But Gandalf agreed to keep you a secret.”

“The only time it would have been useful to have publicised my adventure-and you lot go all camera-shy,” Bilbo grumbled, though he could understand the reasoning. He really could. And if he hadn’t met the unique circumstances he faced, he would have been deliriously happy at their actions.

“So I had nothing to back up my claims and I was facing a prolonged battle in the courts,” Bilbo sighed, his tone bleak. “And during that, Frodo would remain with the family, unattended and feeling abandoned. They weren’t cruel they just…didn’t have the time to attend to a bereaved and distraught five year old as he needed. I had lost both my parents so I could at least support him through that. And he would suffer and fade more while I tried to get back my home. After one visit, where he was sobbing all the time, I knew what was important: Thorin had told me obliquely over all those evenings talking while one or other of us was on watch. Frodo was all that mattered-and if I had to give up everything for him, then there was no other choice. So I made the deal and allowed them to have my home and my possessions. They declared me legally dead so I couldn’t come back and challenge them at a later date but I was named Frodo’s legal guardian before then and we were allowed to leave the Shire. And when my cousin, Fortinbras, the Thain of the Shire, could have been useful, he was silent. So Frodo and I left-homeless and largely penniless-and tried to make our way in the world.”

There was silence when he finished his tale and Gandalf closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

“I should have been there,” he admitted, his voice filled with guilt.

“You were busy here,” Bilbo pointed out. “And why would you help me?” Gandalf looked genuinely winded.

“Bilbo Baggins-I am your friend,” he said in an offended voice. “Your mother was a dear friend and I owed you an adventure for her if nothing else. But I grew to admire and like you and if I had known of your troubles, I would have helped.” He sighed. “Had you contacted me, I would have helped you. I am so sorry…”

“It was appalling,” Legolas murmured, glancing over to Tauriel.

“It’s in defiance of all Eriador Human Rights Conventions of which the Shire is a signatory, current Shire Law which doesn’t permit living persons to be declared dead and by pressurising you to give up your fight by essentially holding the boy ransom, they broke the law and invalidated any deal.” Gandalf announced heatedly.

“The documents you signed waiving your rights to your goods and properties are invalid,” Tauriel translated. “The duress they placed you under is essentially blackmail. Now we have the story, we can file an injunction by the end of the week and reverse your declaration of being dead. And then we can fight to regain your properties.”

Bilbo sat back and felt a sudden weight lift off his chest that he hadn’t realised was there. They were offering to get back Bag End? His properties? His home?

And then he froze. His mother’s garden had been dug up and destroyed and anything that had been left would have been ripped out over the last five years by Lobelia. The properties were his-maybe he could regain them as an income. But Bag End…well, he knew that all his possessions had been thrown out and the place would have been altered beyond recognition. It was a house he had lived in with all the possessions and touches that had made it home taken away. All that was left were in the box…though maybe Lobelia would have kept a few of the more valuable pieces-and his grandmother’s silver spoons which she had always coveted. But was there anything else there? And did he truly want to return to the Shire, to people who abandoned him and who were happy for him to have everything taken from him, who used a grieving orphan as a pawn because he had gone off on an adventure? Did he want to embrace that hypocrisy once more just to regain what could never be truly replaced?

But did what he want truly matter? Maybe Frodo wanted to go home? To not be the outsider any more. To have cousins and friends and people who were related to him by blood (even if they hadn’t wanted him a few years ago.)

In his heart, Bilbo knew that he would do what his cousin wanted, because Frodo had lost so much, suffered so much over the last five years when he was wholly innocent. At least Bilbo had chosen his adventure. Frodo had chosen none of it-save to be with Bilbo. So whatever he chose-no matter how distasteful-Bilbo would comply.

“Please do it,” he said tonelessly. “I am alive. And while it is no longer my home, I’ll be damned if I let Lobelia keep my family home when she stole it from me.” Then he looked up at Thorin, seeing the pain in his blue eyes at the tale. “Thank you.” He looked up, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Even if it is late, this means more than I can express.” Thorin gave a shuddering sigh.

“You suffered a terrible price for helping me regain my home and my inheritance,” he said, his expression grave. “My home cost you yours. And I, of all people, can understand the pain of that loss, the frustration and despair in losing all and seeming to have no way to ever regain it. But you are no longer alone in that struggle, my friend. I will see all that and more restored.” He gave a slight smile. “It’s…”

“Yeah, I know-the least you can do,” Bilbo said and sighed. “But what happens after that depends on Frodo. If he wants to go home…I will go, Thorin. He’s lost so much. I could never deny him that.”

“I know,” the CEO said, his mask back in place. “Of course.” And then he gave a small smile, achingly sad that echoed the confusion in Bilbo’s heart. “But I really wish you would stay.”


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen.**

Erebor Bank was a magnificent monument to capitalism, a palace hewn of silver-grey granite and gilded to within an inch of its life then illuminated brilliantly with lamps that reflected off every golden fixing. The ceiling arched dizzyingly away, maybe thirty or forty feet above and the low level murmur of the customers never detracted from the space. Top-hatted doormen guarded the doors-inside and out-and portraits of previous bank chairmen lined the walls. On the far wall, the flags of the nations dealt with by the bank hung proudly, as well as the banners of the leading families who had always used Erebor Bank…and chief among them was the dark blue marked with seven stars, a hammer and anvil in silver-the signifier of Family Durin.

Bilbo had woken early, made breakfast for everyone who wanted it, bathed himself and Frodo and reluctantly trusted the boy to Dis, who was working from home and looking after Fili and Kili as well. Dressed in the ‘good’ clothes he had bought on his shopping trip and the warm coat he had been gifted for Christmas, he checked he had his passport, driving license, birth certificate and degree certificates-every piece of identification he had been able to grab from his home, for even Lobelia recognised that she could not bin his personal papers for a year and a day after she had declared him ‘missing’. Of course, they all had the wrong address on but they all proved he was who he was, to some extent.

“Ready?” Thorin murmured. The CEO had driven Bilbo into the centre of the city, parking at the offices of Erebor Commodities and walking the one block from the magnificent steel and glass offices to the Bank. Clothed in a plain black suit of obviously expensive make with deep blue shirt and tie, black shoes and long black coat and gloves, Bilbo felt his breath catch at the warmth in Thorin’s eyes. He had not seen Thorin since the Quest, used to seeing him the utilitarian clothing that he still looked good in but seeing him dressed for business was breathtaking.He mentally slapped himself: now was not the time for acting like a lovesick tween, no matter how stunning his friend looked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he murmured as they approached the doors. The doormen held them open with a respectful bow of the head and they entered, meeting the others in the lobby. Balin-as COO, Dwalin as Security Chief and Gloin as Chief Financial Officer were all accompanying Thorin in making the transaction. Balin had suggested that it may require all of them to persuade the bank to release one fourteenth of the value of Erebor Commodities to an unknown of ‘no fixed abode’. And even though Erebor was a private company wholly owned by the Durin family, what Thorin was asking was an unusual request. But the manager, a man named Oddvar Rockhammer, came scurrying through to meet the newcomers, fawning over the senior officers of Erebor Commodities and ignoring the unknown very pointedly.

“Gentlemen-to what do I owe this unusual honour?” the man asked. He was a solid specimen in his grey business suit and white shirt, his full brown beard carefully oiled and hair pulled back into a small club at the nape of his neck. Thorin inclined his head regally.

“We have a transaction with Master Baggins here,” he said in his deep voice, his tone subtly rebuking the manager for ignoring a customer. Finally, the manager inspected the unimpressive shape of Bilbo, his eyes calculating before he adopted a false smile.

“Master Baggins-welcome to our humble establishment,” he said smoothly. “Any colleague of Master Durin is a friend of ours. I hope we will be able to service your banking needs…”

“I’m sure you will,” Bilbo said awkwardly as the manager turned his attention back to his much more important (and profitable) clients.

“So how can I help you today?” Rockhammer asked and Thorin frowned.

“Perhaps we could take this discussion into your office?” he suggested firmly and the manager nodded, leading them to the left and through a magnificent double door into an office larger than the last three apartments that Bilbo and Frodo had lived in. A huge marble-topped desk dominated the room and a number of leather chairs waited. The manager easy slipped into his own impressive seat as the others took a seat. Thorin remained standing, for there were only four seats and Rockhammer’s eyes widened then gestured for his secretary to locate another seat immediately and some coffee. Offering profuse apologies, he cast a glare at Bilbo, as if he was responsible for the issue, though it had been Thorin who had pressed the former burglar to take the last seat. But Bilbo smiled equably back, recognising Thorin’s actions for the tactics they were in emphasising Bilbo’s importance.

Once everyone was seated and offered coffee, Thorin spoke once more.

“I wish to make out a Banker’s Draft to Master Baggins for the sum of…” Then he glanced at Gloin. Slightly red-faced and looking exasperated, Gloin checked his calculator and gave a huff of annoyance.

“Two billion three million one hundred and seventy-nine thousand eight hundred and thirty four dollars,” Gloin said. Bilbo frowned.

“But it was…” he began as Gloin sighed.

“Aye, lad-but that was four days ago and commodity prices and thus the net worth of the company has risen due to global falls in production over the festive season and rises in the price of diamonds,” he explained. The Bank Manager frowned.

“You want a bankers draft to Master Baggins for $2 003 179 834?” he repeated, noting the numbers down. He looked up at Thorin, pleadingly.

“Yes,” the CEO said nonchalantly. “Is that an issue?”

“But the company funds…”

“There is more than enough liquidity in the accounts,” Gloin commented.

“But the effect on business…” Rockhammer protested. Thorin looked up.

“I believe that I am best placed to judge the implications for my company,” he said sternly. “I would be grateful if you would comply with my instructions.” Rockhammer started and then adopted a sickly smile.

“Of course,” he said. “Please excuse me for a moment…” There was a pause and they waited until the door had closed behind him before anyone spoke.

“Is it me or is he more of an asshole than ever?” Dwalin asked with a scowl.

“No, this is his normal demeanour. It’s just you normally only see him when he’s visiting Thorin back at HQ so he’s on his best behaviour,” Balin commented dryly. “This is more how he behaves when I have to do business here.” Gloin grunted in agreement.

“But he will do whatever he is ordered-under sufferance,” Gloin confirmed.

“My family has always banked here,” Thorin murmured and then looked over at Bilbo. “Do you have a bank account available?” The former burglar sighed.

“I was with ShireBank but my account has been on zero for so long that I suspect it has been closed,” he admitted. “I should probably open one here while I am in Erebor…and I know there is a branch in Bree if I do head back West…” His voice faltered and he looked away, feeling guilty.

“Of course,” Thorin said baldly. There was a pause and then Rockhammer returned with an authorisation slip. As expected, he insisted on the signatures of Thorin, Balin and Gloin as the three senior officers of the company to authorise such an enormous transaction. Then, after he had taken it off to be processed, he returned and turned his attention to Bilbo.

“So, Master Baggins, what bank do you want the Draft to be taken to?” he asked. There was a pause and then Bilbo gave a smile.

“Actually, I would like to open an account here,” he said, looking the man in the face.

“I am sure one of the tellers or the associate on New Accounts can…” he began but Thorin stirred in his seat.

“Is your bank so successful that you would not offer personal service to a man about to deposit two billion dollars in a personal account?” he asked pointedly. “And we’ll take that coffee now please.” The Manager gritted his teeth and then gave a very fake smile.

“Bertha! Six coffees please!” he called to his personal assistant and then fished forms from the drawer of his desk. “Of course-I meant no offence, Master Durin. Now, Master Baggins, a few details…”

Sitting back and sipping his black coffee, Thorin watched Bilbo deal politely with the manager who was supercilious, snide and condescending. He was awkward about the ID-with old addresses-and the fact that Bilbo couldn’t provide anything with his current address on, until Thorin commented that Durin Mansion would serve as an address for now. Jaw almost hitting the desk, Rockhammer scribbled the address down wordlessly, getting Bilbo to sign and then heading out to get proof of account, a few paying in slips and printouts of terms and conditions. Of course, he wouldn’t accept the Banker’s Draft to open the account so Bilbo handed over a grubby one dollar bill to open the account, trying not to laugh as the bank manager tried not to touch the thing as he manoeuvred it onto the paying in slip. But when the banker’s draft was finally delivered, Rockhammer personally filled out the paying in slip and took away the certificate before Bilbo could do more than touch it briefly.

“So you’ve done it,” he said softly. “You’ve cleared your debt.”

“The monetary debt,” Thorin amended evenly. “The debt of honour, of friendship, of…all those remain.” Bilbo fished in his waistcoat pocket and drew out the iron ring, rolling it one last time in his fingers.

“You did what you promised,” he said softly. “And you get back your surety. I know it means a lot to you, one of only a few reminders left of your family.” He placed it in Thorin’s hand. But then he paused and delved in his messenger bag, pulling out a little gold-wrapped present. “But I never gave you this on Sunday. I should have but I got diverted by everything else. Overwhelmed. It is unforgivable. I am sorry.” Thorin blinked and stared at the smaller man, seeing the honest apology in Bilbo’s eyes before he accepted the parcel. Carefully, he ripped the paper open and stared at a white gold signet ring, the polished lapis lazuli of the stone incised with a perfect Durin star. Bilbo flicked his wary glance up to read astonishment in Thorin’s face, the eyes filled with shock and affection.

“Bilbo?” he breathed.

“I’m sorry it doesn’t have seven stars though they would be a bit small-but it looks like a proper Durin star,” Bilbo explained. “I noted you never wear yellow gold.” He paused but Thorin said nothing. “Sorry. You hate it. I knew it was a bad…”

“It’s perfect,” Thorin said, sliding it onto his right hand. The fit was perfect since Bilbo probably sized it from the ring he had been given by Thorin himself. “But you…you shouldn’t have…”

“This is why Gloin will be receiving a cheque for the money I spent on my gifts so that he can pay it into your account and then I can feel more like myself as well,” he said. “I guessed that I would forgive you because I can tell genuine remorse when I see it. I know how ill you were, that the poison you were given should have killed you-and that your survival was a miracle. As was the way we met once more. What are the odds I would ring on your door and that you would realise it was me? Another day, you would not have looked at the security footage of a door-to-door wreath seller and I would have spent Christmas in a shelter with Frodo and then spent the rest of the year trying to find another room for us.” Thorin made a pained sound. “But you didn’t. You never gave up when I had. So thank you, Thorin. Thank you for warmth and friendship and hope for Frodo and I. Thank you for restoring my faith in my friend and allowing me the chance to come back into your lives.”

Balin’s phone rang and he answered in low tones. There was a pause as then he nodded with a curt “I’ll tell him.”

“Tell who what?” Dwalin asked, his eyes glittering with interest. The older brother gave a broad smile and turned to Bilbo.

“Congratulations, Master Baggins,” he said. “You’ve just come back to life. Your ‘legally dead’ status in the Shire has been overturned.” Bilbo gaped.

“Already?” he murmured.

“Well, you were pretty chipper for a dead man and now you look much more alive-and rich,” Balin teased him.

“If ye want any financial advice, I am at your disposal,” Gloin added with a grin. “And Della and Gimli want you and Frodo over for dinner within the next couple of weeks…” Dwalin glanced over at Thorin, who was checking his phone. His eyes were flicking down a long email from Legolas and his lips tilted up in a small smile.

“Gandalf apparently eviscerated the judicial officer who allowed the declaration…metaphorically speaking,” he read. “As one of the finest trial lawyers in Arda, he was furious that his friend had been so badly and illegally treated. He travelled there last night and filed the motion first thing this morning! Apparently the abandonment laws Lobelia used were actually repealed thirty years ago as they breach the fundamental rights of citizens to privacy and freedom of movement. The entire basis of their case and the way they robbed you-and abused Frodo, using him as blackmail in contravention to the Children’s Rights Provisions laid out in the Eriadorean Bill of Rights-means they are all looking at jail time and the complete reversal of whatever they did. Your properties and funds should be returned including all income stolen over the intervening years with interest.” He looked up. “They are certain of success.”

Bilbo felt his world tilt. In one hour, he had gone from homeless and penniless, legally dead with his home lost to him to…having everything restored, his odious family members in enormous trouble for their appalling actions and richer than he could have ever have dreamed.

“I need a moment!” he squeaked and bolted for the door, grabbing his phone and scarf on the way. His bag and coat remained by his seat and Balin looked up.

“Give him a moment,” he advised Thorin, who was already half-out of the chair. “It’s a lot to take in-almost the complete reversal of everything bad that has befallen him. Allow him the chance for it to sink in.” Reluctantly, Thorin lowered himself back into the seat.

“He’ll go,” he breathed, staring at the ring. “That’s what he was saying. Thank you-and goodbye…” Dwalin rolled his eyes and Gloin cleared his throat.

“I’m not handing any money over to Dori yet,” he said determinedly. “I have faith in our Master Baggins.”

-o0o-

Bilbo made it to the elegant marble washroom provided for favoured clients and sat inside a locked stall, breathing hard. As everything hit him, he covered his mouth and closed his eyes against the swimming view.

_I could go home. I could have it back. Bag End. Home._

Except he had accepted that it was not. Everything that made it home-the memories, the nick-knacks, the decor…all of it had been removed and sullied by years of Lobelia. Even trying to recreate it would be a miserable, pale imitation and all it would do would be to stir up painful memories.

But what if Frodo wanted to return to the Shire, to the culture he had been born in, to the cousins and aunts and uncles who were his blood kin? Maybe he would prefer to be closer to his parents’ graves, to feel that connection with his losses…?

…or maybe he should ask the boy?

With trembling hands, he dialled Frodo’s new phone number, making sure he used a video call. There was a pause and he feared that Frodo wouldn’t answer-but suddenly the screen sprang into life and Frodo’s grinning face filled the view.

“Hiya Uncle Bilbo!” he said eagerly.

“Hi Uncle Bilbo!” Kili called.

“He’s not your Uncle,” Fili reminded him. “Hello, Master Bilbo.”

“Just Bilbo, please,” Bilbo invited him with a smile.

“And Frodo calls Uncle Thorin Uncle Thorin,” Kili pointed out. “So it would be rude to not return the favour.”

“I think Frodo asked permission,” Fili told him with a huff.

“Can I call you Uncle Bilbo?” Kili asked immediately, peeking around Frodo.

“Um…of course,” Bilbo said, his head spinning with the rapid changes of direction. “Could I have a quick word with Frodo?”

“Ah…of course,” Fili said. “Kili and I will go and get some more lemonade.”

“But I wanna hear…” Kili whined, the words receding. And then the door slammed shut. Frodo sighed.

“Sorry,” he said but Bilbo found himself smiling.

“Frodo-never apologise for having friends and having fun to me,” he told his young charge. “What are you up to?”

“Playing Monopoly,” Frodo grinned. “I’m in jail with Kili while Fili owns almost _everything_. I think he’s going to win in about three moves…” Bilbo chuckled.

“I always lose so I’m not the best one to talk,” he admitted. And then he took a calming breath. “Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Gloin have been helping me this morning. They’ve paid me the money Thorin promised me for the adventure I went on.” He paused. “We are very rich now.”

“Enough for an apartment with a room each?” Frodo checked.

“Enough for a house…a mansion. Enough for a swimming pool and a bathroom for every day of the week…”

“Ew. Why would you want that many baths?”

“Enough to go and live wherever we want,” Bilbo continued. “And Thorin has asked his lawyers to go to the Shire. My old friend, Gandalf Grayhame, has just contacted us. I am not longer legally dead and they can get back my home, Bag End, and everything that was stolen.”

Frodo’s face fell and Bilbo felt the first pricklings of dismay.

“Frodo?” he asked urgently. “Are you okay?”

The boy chewed his lip, his eyes downcast.

“You’ll want to go home then,” he whispered.

“Frodo?” Bilbo asked cautiously.

“Please don’t send me back,” Frodo asked softly. “Please…I won’t be any trouble. I…”

“What are you talking about, my boy?” Bilbo asked him gently, worry obvious in his voice. “I would never send you away. _Ever_. I promised your parents I would look after you-and I did, no matter what it cost. In truth, I could not love you more if you were my own son and I would never let anyone take you from me. That was why we were homeless in the first place.”

“But if you go back, won’t they want me back?” Frodo asked.

“I am your legal guardian and you can stay with me as long as you want-even until I’m old and grey and have to walk with a stick…” Bilbo reassured him gently.

“But you’ll want to go back to the Shire,” Frodo sighed. Bilbo inspected his nephew and his stomach flipped.

“You don’t?” he asked. Frodo stared deep into the camera, his cornflower blue eyes huge and earnest.

“It’s not my home,” he said simply. “When Mum and Dad were alive, it was. But when they died, no one wanted me. Asphodel was okay but she had so many others, she didn’t really have any time for me. No one else did-not the Tooks or the Brandybucks or the Bagginses. The only one who wanted me, who loves me is you, Uncle Bilbo. But why would I want to go live where people treated you and me so badly? Where they used me to steal your home? Where not one cousin or aunt spoke up against it? We’ve been more welcomed and more loved since we came to stay with Dis and Thorin and Fili and Kili than in the whole of the last five years.”

“You want to stay in New Erebor?” Bilbo checked. The boy sighed.

“You and Thorin…I’ve seen how you look at each other,” he said. “It was how Dad looked at Mum. And I know something bad happened but you are friends again…” He shrugged.

“So what do you advise?” Bilbo asked the boy, uncertain what Frodo would say next but interested to know.

“Stay with Fili and Kili,” the boy said simply. “Stay in Erebor. Be friends with Thorin again. Keep in touch with your other friends from the adventure. And do what your heart wants as well, Uncle. You do everything for me. I know you could have been much better off if you didn’t have me-but I never feel like a burden. If you really want to go back…” He sighed dramatically. “I would be sad but I would go because it was what you wanted.” Then he stared deep into Bilbo’s eyes. “But I really don’t think that’s what you want either.”

A weight vanished from Bilbo’s chest and suddenly he felt light as a feather. The uncertainties that had plagued him evaporated and for a long moment, he closed his eyes.

“So if we stayed, you wouldn’t be unhappy?” he checked. A grin split Frodo’s face.

“NO! So we can stay? That is so AWESOME! I gotta tell Fee and Kee!” he exclaimed. “See ya later, Uncle Bilbo!” And then he ended the call. Staring at the blank screen for a long moment, Bilbo rose to his feet and emerged from the stall, automatically washing his hands, even though he had done nothing and set out back for the manager’s office.

Rockhammer was already waiting for him, a polite smile on his broad face as he handed over receipts for thebanker’s draft and for his initial deposit.

“We will get the cards, cheque book and statements to you by the end of the week,” he said, rising and shaking Bilbo’s hand. “Welcome to Erebor Bank.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said neutrally, tucking the papers and his identifications into his bag and following the others out onto the street. Balin hugged the former burglar.

“I’m glad for you, laddie,” he said honestly. “And we’ll see ye for the New Year’s Celebrations?”

“I hope,” Bilbo said as Dwalin and Gloin both hugged him and then headed off, back to the office. Thorin waited silently beside him, waiting to walk him to the car and take him home.

_Home._

Somehow, it didn’t seem so far-fetched now…

His mind far too full, Bilbo didn’t notice that they had already arrived back at the sleek black SUV and found Thorin facing him. There was uncertainty in his face and a resignation that he had only glimpsed a few times on the Quest, when things had looked at their worst.

“I didn’t want to speak in front of the others but I wanted to ask…what will you do now?” he asked softly. “You are welcome to stay with us as long as necessary. More than welcome, in fact. Though what Frodo wants is of course a major factor in any decision…” Bilbo stared up into his face and finally smiled.

“I think he wants to stay with your nephews…possibly until he’s of retirement age,” he murmured. There was a second and Thorin froze.

“And you?” he breathed, his voice laced with treacherous hope. Bilbo lifted his chin.

“You gave me a ring as a promise,” he said softly. “And today, I gave you one in return.” Blue eyes widened. “You have a multiplicity of faults, Thorin-but so do I. But I never doubted your heart. I _don’t_ doubt your heart. I know what happened and I can forgive you because the man who wronged me wasn’t the man I loved. Wasn’t the man facing me _now_. I am starting to trust you again because you have done everything you promised…and shown me once more the leader I followed and the man I fell in love with. And now I don’t feel indebted or resentful to anyone, I am finally free to make my own choice…and follow my heart.” Thorin looked into his eyes.

“There is hope?” he asked hoarsely and Bilbo finally nodded.

“It will take time,” Bilbo counselled him. Thorin huffed a bark of laughter.

“I waited twenty years to regain my family home and fortune. I will take whatever time it takes and make whatever effort is needed to prove that you are my only One,” he breathed. Bilbo grinned.

“Good answer,” he complimented the taller man. Leaning forward, Thorin gently rested his forehead against Bilbo’s, his hand warm on the back of Bilbo’s neck.

“Then stay in Erebor. Stay with Dis and the boys. Stay with us. Stay with _me_.”

Bilbo wrapped his arms around the taller shape, feeling Thorin’s powerful arms encircle him.

“Yes to all,” he said. “Yes to all-but mainly the last one. I’ll stay.”

**The End.**


End file.
